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A Love Story 


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Virginia FisHer Harris 


TZ- 3, 

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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JUN 5 1903 

Copyright Entry 

/Vu UA. ) (] o 5 

CLAs(i ^ XXc. No. 



Copyright, 1903, 

BY 

Virginia Fisher Harris. 



< ‘ / 


i 


I 


ERRATA 


We offer our apologies to the reader for the 
typographical errors in this book. 

On page 18, “intinnabulation” should be 
“tintinnabulation ;” on page 20, “den” should 
be “don;” on page 51, “from” should be “fro;” 
on page 68, “woman” should be “women;” 
etc., etc. 

Lee & Burnett, 

Book and Job Printers. 





TIEEIE 


i 


Blackberries and politicians were ripe. The 
town candidate was overcome with an intense 
yearning to “quit the busy haunts of men,” 
to “draw near to nature’s heart,” to hold sweet 
communion with her, and the rural voter. 
The Mecca of his hopes was Brookside, a pop- 
ulous precinct of much political importance — 
a rustic, collective Warwick. 

Although this was an election year, for the 
once Brookside had relegated politics to a sub- 
ordinate place in its attention, being absorbed 
in more local interests. For months, the en- 
grossing thought of the community had been 
centered upon the building of its school house, 
and now that the last nail had been driven, 
it looked with proud satisfaction upon the 
handsome structure adorning a noble grove — 
standing, a story in stone, telling the nature 
of the people who had erected it — reflecting 
their wealth, culture, and refinement. The 
day of its completion was a notable one in the 
community, marking an epoch in its history. 


6 


TILLIE 


The careless, or indifferent candidate who min- 
imized the importance of this event, found, when 
the votes were counted, that Brookside pre- 
cinct had submerged his political aspirations 
in lethean waves. Hence, the borders of this 
rural retreat, were invaded by hordes of smil- 
ing candidates. The doors of the hospitable 
country homes stood wide open; the hunger- 
ing inner man was fed from tables of boun- 
teous plenty; the aromatic mint mingled with 
the clinking ice in the amber liquid that was 
offered, and never refused, for the refreshing 
of the dust-stained, ever thirsty pilgrims, and 
at all hours of the day, the luscious water mel- 
on popped its verdant sides, and offered up its 
bursting red heart on hospitality’s altar. 

As fitting climax to the completion of the 
school house, a great, grand barbecue was 
determined upon — one to which the whole 
county would be invited; and even the City 
would be remembered — as well as the Town — 
and called upon to contribute its ablest foren- 
sic talent, to do honor to the day. Brookside 
was a unique community — a sequestered frag- 
ment from ante bellum days, that the whirlpool 
of time and progress had failed to sweep away. 
There, the laws of openhanded hospitality 
still prevailed; there, neighbor loved neighbor 


T I L L I E 


7 


and friend was true to friend; self had not 
there become the potent factor of life. In 
their ancestral homes, many families lived, in 
a miniatured way, the life their fathers le^ld, 
before war’s devastating touch had changed 
the current of Southern ways. Broad, pro- 
ductive acres swept around substantial homes 
that dotted the hills, or nestled in the wooded 
valleys. In a restful dale, a little church 
threw its spire up among the towering trees, its 
red brick walls rising like a bit of coral in an 
emerald circlet. From the center of a noble 
park, the white walls of Creston Lodge rose 
high above every building in the neighborhood. 
The passerby always paused a moment before 
the great iron gates, that opened upon the long 
avenued shell walk, that lead to the house. 
Paused, and glimpsed the statues rising white 
from the green sward; the playful sporting of 
the gentle deer; the rich coloring of the flow- 
ers; and back of it all, the imposing structure 
with its tall white columns and broad sweep of 
galleries. Pedestrians rested on the stone 
steps that led from the gate to the highway, 
in the shadow of two stately poplars that 
stood on either side of the gate. 

The neighborhood felt pride, unmixed with 
envy, in this estate. Its owner’s fortune had 


8 


T I L L I E 


been made and saved in honor — no tarnished 
dollar rested in his coffers, and no man stood 
higher in the affection and esteem of the 
county than Colonel Allen Creston. 

Four generations of the name had Creston 
Lodge sheltered, though now but three of the 
name were left: Colonel Creston, his wife 
and their little son, Allen. Joining the Cres- 
ton estate lay the Daveril plantation, and when 
winter winds had stripped the trees of their 
screening foliage, the houses of each stood 
well in view of the other. It was in the Dav- 
eril home, that lonely little Allen passed his 
happiest hours. Theodore Daveril was Allen’s 
age, and the two lads of ten were inseparable 
chums. Elsie Daveril seemed as an elder 
sister, and Tillie, a little maid of seven, was 
the idol of Allen’s boyish heart. 

The four children grew up through an 
ideally happy childhood. Childhood ! Thou 
phantom-land — where shadows seem real, and 
illusive virtues giantize the adult rulers of thy 
kingdom ! 

Mr. Daveril, having donated the ground 
upon which the school house stood, the chil- 
dren had a feeling of personal ownership, and 
there they played through the long warm 
days, and watched with excited interest, the 


T I L L I E 


9 


building rise, stone by stone. But a strip of 
wooded lawn and a cornfield, lay between the 
grounds and the Daveril home, and day by 
day, the children went to this, to them, earth- 
ly paradise. The day the Board met to plan, 
measure and discuss, and decide, upon the 
building site, they were there, standing around 
in listening awe — wide-eyed, and opened- 
mouthed. The day the first load of sand was 
hauled, it seemed, to their childish hearts, as 
if there was no greater happiness left for life 
to give. Far down in the corner of the grounds 
under the spreading shade of a great oak tree, 
they stood watching, with tense breathless in- 
terest, the mules pull slowly up the slope, rat- 
tling and clanking the chains of the wagon 
traces; the snake-like writhings of the long 
leathern whip as it cut, and lashed into the 
air above the toiling beasts ; the high weather- 
stained boards of the wagon, through which 
the fine white sand drizzled, leaving a tiny, 
silvery trail. 

“Git up,” called out the harsh metallic 
voice of the driver and the mules tugged and 
strained up the hill to the level ground. 

“I wish he would throw the sand off here, 
under this big tree, where it is shady, then we 
could play in it. If he goes up where the men 


10 


TILLIE 


will be working, they will say we are in the way. 
Let’s ask him to come over here, Elsie?” and 
Tillie looked pleadingly up into her sister’s 
face. 

“You know he won’t do it,” scornfully said 
Ted. 

“Oh! look Elsie, he’s going on by! Call 
him to come here,” and Tillie’ s face clouded 
over. But Elsie, usually so willing to obey 
her behests, was silent, and Tillie’3 hitherto 
ready allies, Ted and Allen, were dumb* 
Then little Tillie herself, seized the horns of 
the dilemma and called out coaxinglv, with a 
tremor in her voice, “Mr. Davis!” It was 
scarce more than a whisper. Then louder: 
“Mr. Davis!” then imperiously, with gather- 
ing courage: 

“Mr. Davis, come down here where its cool 
and shady.” 

She ran eagerly up to the side of the wagon 
and looked anxiously into the man’s swarthy, 
sweating face. 

“Please throw the sand off under that oak 
tree so we can play in it!” 

He peered at her quizzically from under his 
bushy brows and said : 

“Do you s’pose the Board’s havin’ this sand 
hauled for the Daveril chillerns to play in?” 


T I L L I E 


11 


Tillie stood, flipping up the loose pebbles in 
the dirt, with her bare toes, her curly, tousled 
gold-glinting brown head thrown saucily back, 
her blue-gray eyes gazing steadily into the 
tired man’s weather beaten, labor-lined face, 
her attitude expressing confident impudence. 

“I don’t care! I want it down there under 
that big oak tree,” defiantly. 

Elsie, Ted and Allen stood off in awed 
amazement, then Ted and Allen began 
to snicker, but quickly hid their grin- 
ning faces behind Elsie’s back, not know- 
ing what Mr. Davis in his righteous an- 
ger might rise up and do. With a short dry 
laugh, and a quizzical look from his twinkling 
eyes, at the defiant, saucy little face, the man 
gathered up his lines. 

“Git up;” a cracking of the lash, a rattling 
of chains, and the mules pulled on down to 
the big spreading oak tree. 

The moment of suspense and danger being 
over, Ted and Allen came boldly forward, 
from behind Elsie, and bravely joined in 
Tillie’s wild whoops, and shouts of delight. 
When the wagon stopped, Tillie clambered in, 
and threw her little arms aroand the man’s 
leathery neck. Her kind, warm, little heart 
bubbled over with gratitude towards all who 


12 


T I L L I E 


were kind to her, and her democratic nature 
drew no social lines. When the sand was 
heaped in a huge, glittering mound, Tillie, 
with a ringing laugh, and triumphant shout, 
ran, with the speed of a deer, and jumped 
deep down in the yielding mass, the boys fol- 
lowing clumsily, with less speed, but wilder 
whoops; Elsie, mindful of the dignity of her 
eleven years, going after sedately. Then all 
sat down and built mountains, and forts, and 
castles, out of the shining sand, peopling them 
with bright fancies. 


Dreamy little maid, playing in the sand. 

Building stately castles, lofty and grand, 

With turreted towers, and frowning face, 

And noble steps, that with sinuous grace, 

Sweep to the winding walk that trails its length 
Down to wall, and great iron gate, whose strength, 
Like some giant’s sinewy, certain arm 
Guards the frowning castle from foemans harm. 

The magic wand that happy childhood wields, 

A brilliant troop of stately courtiers yields, 

There are fair ladies sweet, in trailing gowns, 

And knights and lords, and men with ducal crowns, 
And o’er the sand fantastic glamour dwells, 
Enmeshing dreamy maid in eerie spells. 


T I L L I E 


13 


Dreamy little maid with unheeding eyes, 

Sees not frowning rain clouds, in summer skies-. 

Down splash rain drops, in angry swirling dips, 

And fairy land from little dreamer slips. 

Gone — ladies f dr, and men with ducal crown£ 

Ruined — are the castle grand, and spreading grounds; 
Sodden sand, the gate that clanged so loud 
When opened wide for friendly feudal crowd. 

Startled little maid runs, helter skelter, 

From drenching rain, to home’s friendly shelter. 

Life oft is like to playing in the sand, 

Where we, too careless, build, and idly plan; 

Seeing summer skies in beauty bending; 

We think the golden day all unending, 

’Till the sky of life in gloom is clouded, 

And chilled the heart, in sorrow shrouded: 

Then lifting high, its eager anxious gaze, 

The soul in yearning, seeks to pierce the haze, 

When through the mist, with glow, bright supernal, 
There beams the light from Faith’s peak eternal. 


Across the cornfield comejji the wild, clang- 
ing notes of the deep mouthed dinner bell. 
Up jump the children, and brushing the sand 
from their clothes, they race merrily down the 
green slope. Then, there is a brief delirious 
pause in the shallow brook, the little bare feet 
splashing in the clear rippling water. Then 


14 


T I L L I E 


Tillie, Ted and Allen, stand on the red brown 
rock that juts, into the brook, and jump with, 
a dash, and splash, into the cool current, 
reckless Tillie sits down in the shallow stream, 
and watching her garments float about her, 
screams with delight. Another fierce clang 
of the bell, warns the children it is better to 
forego present joys, than to “endure ills they 
know not of,” for Mrs. Daveril could wield 
the rod as energetically as the bell. Down the 
hot dusty road run the two bare foot boys, 
kicking up a shower of red du3t. Tillie, with 
wet, dripping garments clinging to her, runs 
tearfully after them, calling “Wait!” but the 
heedless boys go on, and Elsie takes the little 
wet hand in hers and leads the tearful, dis- 
consolate little maid home. At sight of the 
be-draggled, dust- stained, humbled little fig- 
ure — but a moment before so proudly defiant, 
the boys burst into derisive yells. 

“Oh my! ain’t you a sight,” cries Allen. 

“Won’t you catch it!” cheerfully from Ted. 
Allen calls out “good bye,” and runs swiftly on 
through the orchard, down the narrow path their 
childish feet have worn, across the pasture* 
and through the stretch of woodland home. 

When the bricks for the school building 
were hauled, the boys built doll houses. 


T I L L I E 


15 


churches and stores, Tillie and Elsie taking 
their dolls over. Tillie’s cyclonic touch had 
left Elsie but two dolls — Mr. and Mrs. Flow- 
ery. These, Elsie treasured with precious 
care. Mrs. Flowery was a silly, frivolous 
little china-headed doll, and Mr. Flowery, a 
dapper velvet- clad little bisque. They were 
very dear to Elsie, and it was with a mourn' 
ful sigh of resignition, that she permitted 
dainty, fastidious, aristocratic Mrs. Flowery 
to associate with Tillie’s motly, pieman family 
of leg-less, arm-less, or hair-less dolls. Often 
Elsie fancied she saw a look of ineffable scorn 
sweep over Mrs. Flowery’s patrician counte- 
nance when thrown into proximity to Tillie’s 
dirty- face rag dolls, with their legs and arms 
sticking out in awkward, unlady-like manner, 
But Tillie, like all mothers of unfortunate 
children was sensitive, and Mrs. Daveril and 
Elsie could allude to the sorrows, and misfor- 
tunes of her family, only in the most deli- 
cate, tactful manner — after realizing the 
futility of their efforts to keep the dolls clothed 
and whole. Allen and Ted, being thorough 
democrats, resented Mrs. Flowery’s assumption 
of patrician airs, and made life very miserable 
and uncertain for her, and carried her through 
harrowing experiences, mortifying to a re- 


16 


T I L L I E 


fined, sensitive, delicate nature. They buried 
her deep in the sand pile, and hung her 
high upon branches of the trees with an un- 
lady-like exposure of limb, very embarrassing. 
Daily they baptized her in the brook with 
pomp and solemnity, and the singing of dole- 
ful hymns — which was most trying to Mrs. 
Flowery, she being a High Church -woman. 
She barely escaped being sealed up in 
the school house corner-stone, but Tillie’s 
sharp eyes discovered her in time to effect a 
rescue, for though Mrs. Flowery looked with 
disdain on Tillie’s shabby family, Tillie’s 
little warm, forgiving heart could “do good to 
those who despitefully” used her. 


T I L L I E 


17 


H 


As Sancho Panza said, “God bless the man 
who invented sleep,” so, the pious politician — 
if any such there be — should ejaculate — Heav- 
en bless the man who invented the barbecue ! 
It is at the barbecue that the oratorical candi- 
date appears at his best, and it is a high tide 
in his political affairs that may “lead on to 
fortune and to fame.” While the post-pran- 
dial speaker may find that his gastronomical 
feats, have in a measure, impeded the flow of 
his eloquence, his hearers are less critical, 
than if he had addressed them before dinner 
— that being the crowning glory of the barbe- 
cue — speeches, music, et cetera — being but 
pleasing accessories. So, dinner disposed of, 
a good natured constituency settles itself con- 
tentedly, to listen — the speaker’s fine rhetori- 
cal points blending so hazily and harmoniously 
in its mind with recollections of Aunt Sallie’s 
pies, and Uncle Joe’s roast, that the line of 


18 


T I L L I E 


demarkation between thought and good di- 
gestion grows faint. 

A hungry listener is a tiger and picks flaws 
in an argument as a dog gnaws a bone — 
snarling and snapping. The well fed hearer 
is like the sheep, and bleats, ba-a, after the 
orator’s peroration — content to accept anoth- 
er’s logic as his own. He who speaks before 
dinner, must consult the face of his watch as 
'well as the face of his audience. The speaker — 
or preacher — who detains mortal man beyond 
his dinner hour — though he speaks the words 
of a Demosthenes with the tongue of an angel, 
will find that his eloquence becomes “but 
sounding brass, and tinkling cymbal.” He 
who would waft his audience within sight of 
celestial visions, or sound of angelic choirs, 
must return them to earth, in time to catch the 
intinnabulation of the dinner bell. 


The day of the barbecue drew near; all 
Brookside was stir and bustle. The house- 
keepers were on their mettle; they had a repu- 
tation to maintain — Brookside house-keeping 
being far famed, even beyond the borders of 
the county. 

Elsie felt her importance, that she was per- 
mitted to help her mother and Mammy Letty 


T ILLIE 


19 


with the cake-making and pie-baking. Ted, 
Tillie and Allen, being denied entrance to the 
kitchen, hung around the door like hungry 
puppies, calling out sarcastic jeers and taunts 
to Elsie, who ignored them in haughty silence. 
“Oh, my! don’t you think you are smart?” 
sneered Tillie, with up-turned nose, and tossing 
head. 

“You think you’re something, don’t you?” 
sarcastically from Ted; while Allen called out, 
with withering scorn : 

“You ain’t so many!” 

“G’won fum dat do!” Mammy Letty 
calls out. Tillie sticks her little tousled head 
in the door, and says in wheedling tones: 

“Mammy Letty, please ma’am, let us scrape 
the bowl, when you pour the batter in the cake- 
pan.” 

“G’won fum dat do, I say! I ain’t got 
no time ter fool wid you all. You chilluns ack 
lak haf starved niggers. “Gwon fum dar I 
tell you!” 

And Mammy Letty would beat the batter 
vigorously with the great, long, iron spoon. 

Ted and Allen snicker, and jump back, but 
bold little Tillie sneaks in, and giving Mam- 
my Letty’s black neck a hug, with one arm 
slyly slips one dirty little finger in the batter, 


20 


T I L L I E 


which she boldly licks before Mammy jetty’s 
astonished eyes. Ted and Allen, inspired by 
their leader’s bravery, attempt the same 
feat, but are ignominiously routed by Mammy 
Letty. After a time, the bowl is set out side 
the door, and the three children scrape and 
eat, and smear the white batter over their 
dirty faces. Then the beligerent Mammy 
Letty comes out, with a heaping plate of little 
round, hot cakes. 

“G’won dar in the shade, and eat 
dese; but don’t you tell yer ma nuffin ’bout hit, 
case I dun baked um, unbeknowenst to 
her, do she den low dat pound cake ’sprise 
her, long er hit not bein’ as big as hit most in 
general is.” 

At last the morning of the great day dawns. 
Judge Brentford, candidate for congress, is to 
be the orator of the day, and guest of the 
Daverils. To his son Leslie, a youth of 
twenty, fresh from college, has been deputed 
the honor of making a brief talk on “The 
value of learning,” for the benefit of “the 
young idea” of Brookside, which will soon be 
“taught to shoot” within the stone walls of 
the school house. Colonel Creston is to make 
the opening address, and Mr. Daveril to intro- 
duce the speakers. 


TILLIE 


21 


Mrs. Daveril dare not dress Ted and Tillie 
for the barbecue, until the last moment — as 
they are short on thinking, and long on 
climbing, Tillie, as apt to be found perched 
on the barn, as in a chair. She had been 
known to come in from some of her exploits 
“all tattered and torn” but so tearful, sor- 
rowful and remorseful, so contrite, that 
soothing caresses and sympathizing 
kisses, are showered upon her, instead of the 
spanking she so richly deserved. 

Tillie escaped her merited meed of chas- 
tisement, through the tearful intercessions of 
Ted and Allen. 

On the morning of the barbecue, Ted and 
Tillie, with disheveled locks, and soiled gar- 
ments, strayed down the hot, dusty road, to 
watch for the coming of the great man. 
Allen followed, with down-cast head, and 
slow dragging feet, very miserable and un- 
happy in his good clothes. Mrs. Creston 
had permitted him to come over, after 
he had bound himself by solemn promises, 
to be very nice and quiet, to sit very still, 
and look at books and pictures with Ted and 
Tillie, whom she thought would also be 
“clothed and in their right minds.” Very 
handsome Allen looked, and Ted and Tillie 


22 


T I L L I E 


admired him very critically, and solemnly, for 
a while, but when Allen, out of deference to 
maternal injunctions, continued to back from 
the approach of their inquisitive dirty fingers, 
Ted became very much incensed, and stormed 
out: 

“You needn’t be so ’fraid of us touchin’ 
you, Allen Creston! we’re just as good as you 
are!” 

“I know it Ted, ’taint me, it’s the clothes,” 
said Allen, apologetically, almost in tears. 

“Well! what you come here in your good 
clothes for?” indignantly; and Ted flipped up 
a shower of powdery red dust, that fell over 
Allen’s white suit like a red mist, and half 
blinded him. Then Tillie, never to be out- 
done, kicked up more, and Ted, thus en- 
couraged, raised a regular simoon. Allen 
looked at his ruined clothes, and read between 
the lines. It meant a whipping, and perhaps 
worse, banishment from Daveril Dell. He 
had come over so proudly to show Tillie his 
new suit, and she had treated him with dis- 
dain and ignominy! The iron entered his 
soul. A thirst for vengeance possessed him. 
Regardless of clothes and solemn vows, he 
plunged into the dusty road, and fell upon 
Ted and beat him. But Ted was up in a 


T I L L I E 


23 


moment, giving blow for blow, while Tillie 
was biting and scratching Allen, and scream- 
ing: 

“Let my brother alone !” 

In the midst of these sanguinary proceed- 
ings, a horse and buggy appeared around the 
bend of the road. In the buggy were Judge 
Brentford and his son. Ted and Allen took 
to their heels, Allen going dejectedly home. 
Over the meeting between mother and son, 
the pall of silence drops. After the flight of 
the boys, Tillie stood for a moment, in the 
middle of the road, bare legs astride, gazing 
defiantly at the occupants of the buggy, then 
with feet and hands, throwing a shower of 
dust in the horses’ face, she fled with the speed 
of a fawn, down the road, in the gate, around 
the house, plump into the arms of Mammy 
Letty, who was searching for her. She bore 
the dust-smeared Tillie into the bath room, and 
plunged her into the tub of water, rubbing 
and scrubbing, regardless of cries of “Soap in 
my eyes!” 

“Big man in de parlor and you kivered wid 
de dust of de road!” scornfully from Mammy 
Letty. “What dat man gwine tink uv yer 
Pa? G’wine size him up fer er little oP one 
hoss farmer, stid er big planter!” 


24 


TILLIE 


Then came the hair brushing, and the last 
state of that child was worse than the first. 
The making of Tillie’s toilet was always a 
gloomy occasion. But when she was dressed 
in her dainty white frock, with a pink sash 
about her waist, pink bows nestling in her 
sunny curls, she was as fair, and sweet and 
dainty a little maid as ever eye rested upon. 
Mammy Letty, impressed with the dignity and 
importance of having a great man under the 
roof, lined the three children up in front of 
her, while with solemn, mysterious air, she en- 
deavored to impress upon their juvenile minds, 
the importance of upholding the dignity, of 
the house of Daveril. Tillie was the recipient 
of an extra lecture, her demeanor being of an 
uncertain quality that kept the family in a 
state of dread and suspense, in the presence 
of company. Her eyes were very big and 
serious as she listened to Mammy Letty. 

“Elsie, you looks mighty nice and pretty 
and I knows you’s g’wine ter ack lady-like. 
Ted, yer looks like er little man ; now ’have 
yerself. Now, Tillie, don’t yer do nuffin 
scan’lous. Don’t yer skin de cat, er turn 
summerset, er stan’ on yer head ’fore de com- 
pany, case dats er mighty big man, an you 


T I L L I E 


25 


must be ’spectible. G’won in de parlor now, 
and ’have yerselves.” 

The three children walked demurely into 
the parlor, the gentleman rising at their en- 
trance. Tillie stood bashfully before Judge 
Brentford, who reached down and took her 
little hand in his. He looked smilingly into 
the pretty face, and said, as he drew her up to 
him : 

“Is this pretty little girl the one 1 saw kick- 
ing up dust in the road?” 

“Yes; but,” looking at him critically with 
big serious eyes, “you ain’t so very big, you 
ain’t as big as Papa; Mammy Letty said you 
were great big!” measuring with her tiny 
hands from the floor. Then going shyly up 
to Leslie Brentford, she gave him her hand. 
He stooped and looked long and admiringly 
into the sweet little flower-like face. 

“I like you better than him,” pointing with 
fine scorn at Judge Brentford, whose dimen- 
sions had disappointed her. 

“I like you too, little maid,” said Leslie 
seriously. 

Awe and fear being worn off, Ted and Tillie 
began playing hide and seek, behind Judge 
Brentford’s chair. Ted and Tillie would have 
played on Mahomet’s tomb. 


26 


T I L L I E 


It seemed as if the county had emptied its 
entire population into the spacious wooded 
grounds of Brookside school house. The long 
rows of rough plank seats, ranged before the 
speakers stand, were filled to crowding, with 
men, women and children, dressed in their best 
summer finery. Off to one side were ranged 
numerous long board tables, about which men 
and women were busy, arranging a moun- 
tain of edibles. About the lemonade stands, 
country girls in varihued toilets, stood with 
their best beaux, sipping and simpering. 

Seated around tables, under the shade of 
wide spreading trees, town belles in crisp, cool 
white gowns, toyed with ices, and the hearts of 
masculine admirers, who hovered about them. 
Off in sequestered nooks, seated on rambling 
grape vines, oblivious of all the world, lovers 
talked in low murmuring tones. The wheezy 
jingling notes of a hand organ, rose and fell on 
the summer air, keeping time with the merry- 
go-round, as it whirled round, and round, with 
its load of laughing children. 

The band played Dixie, Wild yells rent the 
air; gloved hands clapped enthusiastically, 
and dainty handkerchiefs waved and fluttered 
— affection’s unfailing salute to an echo from 
the deathless past. Bronzed cheek men, 


T I L L I E 


27 


across whose breasts were pinned, empty 
sleeves, furtively wiped tears away, as the old 
familiar strains, rose and fell on the soft sum- 
mer air. Grey haired women felt a choking 
in the throat, and a tightening about the heart, 
and tears, unrestrained, rolled down their 
withered cheeks. When the music ceased, 
Allen, crowded in between his mother and 
Tillie, looked up, and saw his father standing 
on the platform. Tall, erect, handsome, his 
mien bespoke the gallant chivalrous gentleman, 
and his face expressed the noble man. As 
Allen looked into his father’s dark, flashing 
eyes and listened to his earnest words, he felt 
a thrill shoot through his boyish heart, and 
pride and affection gushed the warm tears to 
his eyes, and ambition’s first whisper fell 
upon his mind. 

Colonel Creston was followed by Leslie 
Brentford who rose, with the blush of modesty 
upon his beardless cheek. 

His grey eye swept over the face of his 
audience, and fell and rested upon a little wild 
rose face, hedged in between two squirming 
restless boys. The big, serious, blue- grey eyes 
looked full into his own. With a faint smile 
upon his lips, and a quick up-throwing of the 
head, he drew his tall shapely figure to its full 


28 


T I L L I E 


height. He launched into his speech with a 
voice slightly quivering from nervous embar- 
rassment, but in a moment, mind controlled 
the body, and he was master. His w’ords of 
youthful enthusiasm, thrown out in clear 
ringing tones, swayed, and held his audience. 
When he made his bow and stepped back, 
wiping his brow, men and women crowded 
around, and shook his hand in friendly con- 
gratulation. 

“You’ll have to look to your laurels, Judge,” 
said Mr. Daveril to the proud father who stood 
beaming with pride upon his boy. 

“When you step out of Congress, Judge 
Brentford, your son will be ready to step in,” 
said Colonel Creston. 

Then came the dinner — a bountiful Southern 
dinner, in which each matron who had con- 
tributed of her culinary skill, tried to excel 
her neighbor. 

Then the genial, laughing, jesting throng 
ranged itself again, on the hard backless 
seats, before the speaker’s stand. Bursts of 
melody from the band — then a hush, and 
little expectant pause — then a storm of ap- 
plause, as the orator of the day, stood before 
the waiting audience. A bow — another burst 
of applause — the sad, wailing strains of 


T I L L I E 


29 


“Home Sweet Home,” — and the day was 
done. 

Mothers lifted their sleeping babes from 
the warm earth, and pressed them to their 
breasts, to hush their startled cries. Neigh- 
bor turned for a farewell word with neigh- 
bor; and old army comrades grasped each 
other’s hand, and spoke one more reminis- 
cent word. 

The grounds were a scene of stir, bustle and 
confusion, and a medley of sound rose upon 
the air. The pawing of impatient hoofs into 
the turf; the rattling of chains as refactory 
mules were being hitched to wagons; a girl’s 
merry laugh; the loud guffaw of the country 
yokel; the fretful cry of a tired child. Then 
the dust rose like a mist from the long stretch 
of road, whence came the heavy rumblings of 
wagons; the softer rolling of carriages, and 
buggies ; the sharp hoof falls of trotting horses. 
The shadows of twilight crept through the 
wood3 — then silence broken now and then 
by the sharp, anxious bark of a dog, lost from 
its master ; the distant rumbling of a wagon on 
a far away hill, and the plaintive call of a 
lonely whippoorwill. Then — deepened gloom 
and night fell, over the solemn, silent woods. 


30 


T I L L I E 


III 


Many snows have fallen on the hills and 
valleys. Many times the ice has locked the 
fretting waters of the little rill in its chill 
clasp. Many summers have thrown their 
mantles of green over the sward. Many mar- 
riage bells have pealed and chimed. Many 
funeral trains have swept their solemn 
lengths over the trailing road, winding in and 
out the silent wood. Time, with his scythe, has 
stalked by, and Death with his sickle, followed 
after, gathering the ripened grain and the 
tender blade. Colonel Creston, while yet in 
the flush of his prime, went away, — into the 
silent Unknown ; and his wife, pining for the 
sound of his voice, and the clasp of his hand, 
laid aside her cares, and walked down into the 
shadowed valley, where his face beamed upon 
her, in the radiance of the real Life. 

Allen, in his lonely home, grew to a noble 
young manhood. Tillie was still the light of 


T I L L I E 


31 


his days; he held her love as the dearest gift in 
his fortune crowned life, — and his love for her 
had kept his young manhood sweet and pure. 
The Daverils had loved, and soothed, and com- 
forted him in the days of his sorrow, and time 
had, but knit the bonds of friendship closer. 
Together, he and Theodore had gone to Brook- 
side school, through the early days of boy- 
hood; and together they drank from fuller, 
deeper founts in college halls. Now in the 
untrammeled freedom of manhood, they were 
entered upon halcyon days. 

Allen walked down the road, toward the 
school house, where the young men and 
women of the neighborhood were merrily busy, 
decorating the lawn for the nights garden 
party, to be held in honor of Tillie’s return 
after four months absence in the City. 

She had achieved something of a social suc- 
cess there, her beauty, her girlish freshness, 
her piquant unconventionality charming all 
who met her. Allen paused a moment on the 
brink of the little stream, and watched the 
ripples dash noisely away. In retrospect, he 
saw Tillie’s little white bare feet, resting on 
the gleaming pebbles in the stream ; he saw 
her garments ‘clinging like cerements ;’ he saw 
the spray -dashed gold- brown tendrels nest- 


32 


T I L L I E 


ling about the sweet face ; the merry saucy 
eyes seemed to look full into his own. Allen 
brushed away a tender tear and sat down on 
the old red brown rock. How great once 
had seemed this old rock! But now, before 
maturity’s iconoclastic vision, its dimensions 
seemed to have dwindled away to insignifi- 
cance. What a feat they had thought it, he, 
Ted, and Tillie, to stand on its rough surface, 
and jump with bound and splash into the 
shallow depths of the cool little stream! 
Each had tried to excel the other, in the dis- 
tance jumped, and how their boyish pride — 
his and Ted’s, had been crucified to see 
Tillie’s lithe, supple little body, spring with 
leopard -like grace far beyond their marks — 
and how, with boyish scorn of feminine ex- 
cellence, they had asserted disdainfully, 
“Pshaw, they could beat that but they were 
tired.” And now, before his mental vision, 
the hurt look in the sweet eyes; the disap- 
pointed tremor of the tender lips, the down- 
drooping of the tawny head, bent as if to re- 
ceive the cypress, instead of the wreath of 
bay it had hoped for — all stood so plainly be- 
fore him, as to plant a thorn in his hearty 
And there was Elsie — always Elsie, to soothe 
the little maid, when Ted and Allen had been 


T I L L I E 


33 


false or fickle. He, to have ever hurt or 
wounded Tillie ! Here Allen arose from the 
rock, and stretched out his arms as if to clasp 
a phantom figure to his breast. A voice called 
his name, and Ted’s bright, boyish, face looked 
from the hillside upon him. He crossed the 
foot bridge and went up the gentle slope, 
down which, in childhood he, Ted and Tillie, 
had raced so merrily. Tillie, fleet of foot, had 
always reached the goal first, and stood 
flushed, and laughing and panting, awaiting 
them. Ted slipped his arm through Allen’s — 
“What’s the matter old fellow? you look 
blue.” 

“I have been seeing ghosts Ted — ghosts 
from a dead past — yours, Elsie’s, Tillie’s and 
mine. I have been for a little while in shadow 
land, with four children we will never see 
again. I have been watching them wade in 
the brook. I have been seeing a little maid 
we use to tease /’ 

“And does that make you grumpy? It 
makes me laugh. I can see Tillie now, in her 
dirty dress, and bare feet, kicking up dust in 
Leslie Brentford’s face,” and Ted laughed 
loud and merrily. 

“ ‘The loud laugh that speak3 the vacant 
mind,’ ” quoted the clear bell-like voice, of a 


34 


T I L L I E 


sylph in whit©, who greeted them at the brow 
of the hill, and Louie Graham smiled archly 
upon them. “Allen, come over in the shade 
of the old oak, and explain why you, the in- 
stigator, the prime mover of tonight’s 
festivities, have shirked, and left the work 
for us to do.” 

“I, as general, planned the campaign 
Louie, and left the work for the rank and 
file.” The three walked over to the old oak 
tree — “Tillie’s tree,” it had been called, since 
that memorable day in the long ago, when 
Tillie had coerced Mr. Davis into unloading 
the sand there. Elsie was sitting now under 
its shade, and by her side sat young Doctor 
Thurston, idly toying with her fan, looking 
very comfortable and content. 

“This is evidently a case of ‘two’s company,’ 
and it seems unkind to intrude upon so pleas- 
ant a tete a tete,” said Allen teasingly, as he 
took Elsie’s outstretched hand, and smiled in- 
to her happy blushing face. 

“Oh,” said Louie, sinking down upon a piled 
heap of cushions and drawing her white 
draperies aside to make room for Ted beside 
her, “Elsie’s and Doctor Thurston’s case is 
one of such long, prosaic standing, that all 


TILLIE 


35 


the romance is rubbed off. A crowd doesn’t 
embarrass them at all, the love making goes 
on just the same.” 

“If it does, Louie, Doctor Thurston takes the 
initiative; Elsie doesn’t pursue him as you do 
me,” said Ted. 

“ ‘The fool fleeth where no man pursueth,’ ” 
quoted Louie. “You are chased by your 
vanity’s phantoms.” 

“The personal tone of this conversation is 
embarrassing to Elsie and Doctor Thurston. 
I see they both are blushing very violently,” 
said Allen. 

“Doctor Thurston blushing!” said Louie, 
peering into his face, “Then it must be at the 
remembrance of the bill he presented to his 
last patient.” 

“Doctor Thurston doesn’t present bills to 
his patients — he and the undertaker present 
them to the family of the dear deceased,” said 
Theodore solemnly. 

“ ‘Dead men tell no tales,’ ” added Allen, 
lugubriously. 

“Doctor Thurston,” said Elsie, laughing, 
“their youth is sufficient apology for their im- 
pertinence. Remember, these silly boys are 
but twenty-one, and tender and fresh.” 


36 


T I L L I E 


“I have been puzzling over a question of 
cause and effect;” said Theodore, reflect- 
ively. “I want to know whether the increased 
mortality of Brooksideis due to Doctor Thurs- 
ton’s presence — or Doctor Thurston’s presence 
is due to the increased mortality.” 

“That is an abstruse, debatable question, 
Theodore,” laughed Doctor Thurston, “one 
you might submit to Leslie Brentford’s logical 
mind for elucidation. I hear he is to be here 
tonight, and he is supposed to know all things 
knowable.” 

“Don’t fling any sarcasms at Mr. Brentford, 
Doctor Thurston. I have been holding him up 
as a model to these two lazy, idling boys, who 
do nothing but hunt, fish, and dream the gold- 
en days of youth away,” said Elsie. “True, 
he is nine or ten years their senior, but see 
what he has accomplished ! A character that 
no one impugns — a high standing at the bar, 
and a fair promise of going to congress in a 
few years. I remember the day he made his 
maiden speech, here on these very grounds, 
and I remember that our elders then, predict- 
ed, there was a future for Leslie Brentford.” 

“Oh, you sluggards,” said Louie pointing 
her finger at Allen and Ted, “ ‘go to the ant 
and be wise!’ And you, Allen, furl your con- 


T I L L I E 


37 


quered banner. You have no chance with 
such a ‘Richmond in the field.’ He is the man 
of the hour; and ‘they say’ — that unbiquitous, 
elusive elf — that he is wild about Tillie, and 
swears by the great horn spoon, to have her, 
or Allen’s ‘heart’s blu-u-ud,’ ” tragically, with 
her saucy laughing blue eyes fixed on Allen’s 
dark frowning face. “Scared Allen? He will be 
here to night, and what a romantic termination 
to the evening’s festivities would be a duel by 
moonlight,” 

“Sacrifice yourself, Allen, do,” said Ted, 
“Brook&ide is so horribly, desperately, virtu- 
ous, there is never a sensation,” 

“And now is your opportunity to enroll 
your name on Fame’s scroll, Allen — embrace 
it,” said Louie. 

“Pardon me if I seem disobliging by de- 
clining to pass into history as the Brookside 
sensation,” answered Allen smiling. 

Reflectively and meekly from Ted. 

“Louie, I’d rather embrace you, than an 
opportunity.” 

“Goose! What prevents? I’m sure the 
company will retire if you are bashful.” 

“On second thought, I won’t, Louie, you 
being the antithesis of ‘opportunity,’ which is 
golden.” 


38 


TILUE 


“Then, if ‘like, seeks like,’ I must be thine 
affinity, oh youth with brazen cheek.’ ’ 

“I shall be glad to renew my acquaintance 
with Mr. Brentford,” said Elsie, irrelevantly. 
“He has been so kind to Tillie during her visit 
to the City. I am so pleased that he is coming 
tonight.” 

“Yes, I am glad too, ’’said Allen. “He is a 
fine fellow. 1 hope he will stay in the neigh- 
borhood long enough to enable me to return 
some of the many courtesies he has shown me 
during my trips to the city. I wrote, and in- 
vited him to be my guest on this occasion, but 
he had promised to stop with relatives.” 

“Be on your guard Allen. Tillie may 
weigh the ‘village swain’ in the balance, and 
find him wanting, against Leslie Brentford 
and a long line of suitors. Tillie has had a 
taste of power, and a glimpse of the gay 
world. The little rustic maid, simple and un- 
spoiled, who left us a few months ago, may 
find Brookside’s charms tame and dull when 
she returns. But if this gorgeous scene” with 
a sweep of the hand toward the lawn “doesn’t 
over-power her, we will send her back to the 
City to be courted and flattered a month long- 
er, and my sweet, self-sacrificing spirit will 


TILLIE 


39 


impel me to go with her, to share her honors 
and beaux/’ 

“Go, Louie, go! With tears in my eyes, I 
implore you! There are compensations in 
every lot, and we can endure Tillie’s absence 
if it removes your frivolous presence from our 
serious midst.” 

A toss of the blonde head — a curl of the 
pouting red lips and a glance from half closed 
eyes, was the only answer Louie vouchsafed 
Theodore. 

“Elsie, Tillie reached Town, yesterday, 
didn’t she?” asked Louie. 

“Yes, and I believe Allen drives in for her 
this afternoon. Isn’t that the arrangement, 
Allen?” 

“Yes, and I must be going now. But Black 
Lee will trot the seven miles in very few 
minutes, and I’ll have Tillie home in time for 
her beauty nap this afternoon, before the grand 
fete begins,” smiling. Ted looked at Allen’s 
bright happy face and said : 

“Everybody happy but me! Boo-hoo!” 
then began to sing “No one to love, none to 
carress,” in doleful harrowing tones. 

“What’s the matter with me?” asked Louie, 
slangily, rising and sweeping him a low 
courtesy. 


40 


T I L L I E 


Placing his hand upon his heart, and bow- 
ing low, Ted replied. 

“Small favors thankfully received.” 

“Ingrate! To wound my tender trusting 
heart with irony’s darts!” 

“Don’t know about your heart being tender 
Louie. It seems rather tough and sinewy, 
but we all admit the tenderness of your brain. 
Come Elsie, Louie, all of you, it is time to go 
home and rest from our labors.” 


T I L L I E 


41 


IV 


Black Lee, with swift high stepping strides, 
cut the wind like a knife, and the buggy- 
bowled rapidly along the smooth hard road. 
Tillie threw back her head, and drank in the 
fresh fragrant country air with deep soughing 
breath. The wind tossed her hair in fluf- 
fing disorder about her face; the glow deep- 
ened in the rounded cheeks, the bright 
expressive eyes sparkled with the delight, 
and the whole face glowed with health 
and happiness, and the exuberant joy of liv- 
ing. 

“Oh the dear country, how I love it!” 

Allen smiled tenderly into her face. 

“Tillie it is sweet to hear you say that. I 
have been troubled with many forebodings 
during the long lonely days that you were 
away. I know how you love brightness 
and gaiety — how you enjoy the excitement of 
city life, and I have feared Tillie, you might 
come home, only to find the country insup- 


42 


T I L L I E 


portably dull and monotonous. And Tillie 
— how that would hurt me. For dear as Cres- 
ton Lodge is to me — my very heart strings 
seem twined about it — yet your happiness is 
dearer.” 

“Allen, Creston Lodge is as dear to me, as 
to you. I love every stone in its walls; every 
gnarled old tree, the flowers, the winding 
walks — but most of all I love the memories 
that cluster about it. Your father was my 
childhood’s hero. My sole ambition for you, 
Allen, is that you may be the worthy son of a 
noble sire; that you may be the courtly hon- 
ored country gentleman, as was he; that you 
may maintain Creston Lodge in the dignity of 
its traditions ; and that the name that has come 
to you, untarnished, through an honored 
ancestry, may lose none of its lustre, now 
that you bear it alone — the last of your line 
and race. I think Allen, that your father 
must have had a premonition that you would 
soon be left alone, for though I was but a slip 
of a girl, in those last days, he talked much 
to me of you. He spoke of his hopes and 
plans — your noble qualities, and your weak- 
nesses — ee’n those ‘failings that lean to vir- 


T I L L I E 


43 


tue’s side’ — your generous, trusting impulsive 
nature, and would often say, ‘Tillie, Allen is 
in your keeping.’ ” 

“He loved you so Tillie. It was a pleasant 
thought to him that one day you would be the 
mistress of Creston Lodge, for though I was 
barely fourteen when he died, it seemed quite 
settled with us ail, that you and I would 
marry when we were grown.” 

Tillie blushed rosily, and Allen smiled into 
her face and continued: 

“I remember well, the day I arrived at the 
dignity of my first trousers— with what scorn I 
looked upon the discarded kilts! — My father 
took me in his lap, and looking very seriously 
into my face, asked: 

‘What are you going to do when you are a 
man Allen?’ 

‘Marry Tillie,’ I answered with solemn 
promptness. 

And Tillie, that boyish ambition has gone 
through life — every other aspiration is sub- 
merged in that one crowning hope. We have 
overcome the one obstacle — youth. Are there 
any other objections to be urged?” 

“Propinquity,” answered Tillie, smiling. 
“Our elders say, that, since we have grown 


44 


TILLIB 


up together, our affection may be but the result 
of propinquity, — and has not been fairly 
tested.” 

“Tillie you know better than that?” asked 
Allen in a hurt tone. 

“Yes, and so will they; but we all are so 
happy, we can afford to drift along as we are, 
yet a while longer.” 

“I have truly been between Scylla and 
Charybdis, the past four months. At home, I 
missed you so desperately, I must fly to the 
City ; there, to stand like a Tantalus — seeing 
you. hearing you, but always in a crowd — 
never a moment alone — jostled aside by the 
admirers with their ‘previous engagements.’ 
I tell you it was hard on a fellow, Tillie, and I 
am glad to have you again, all to myself.” 

“Every one was kind, Allen, so kind, to 
rustic little me, and this season in the City 
will always be a rose-hued remembrance.” 

“Kind! J should think so — some too kind. 
Leslie Brentford ‘had been kinder, had he 
been unkind.” 

“No, indeed, Allen. My modicum of popu- 
larity was due to his friendship and influence. 
But for Mr. Brentford, I had returned ‘un- 
honored and unsung.’ There are several strik- 
ing points of resemblance between society 


T I L L I E 


45 


men and sheep — both move in flocks, both 
are dependent on a leader — and a sheep I 
believe is considered the most stupid of quad- 
rupeds. To the biped — nature has given feet 
for dancing, hands for card-playing, lips for 
smiles and flatteries, forms for tailor’s exhibits. 
The trifling matter of brain is furnished by 
the leader, whom the busy little flock selects, 
and their allegiance to him is like unto that of 
Ruth’s to her mother-in-law, — queer girl. — 
Whither he goes, they go; his people 
become their people — his gods — mammon and 
society — theirs. In the City, Leslie Brent- 
ford is this social potentate.” 

“I thought he worshiped at ambition’s 
shrine?” asked Allen. 

“Yes, but he was born within society’s pale, 
and has lisped its shibboleth from infancy, 
hence he holds to its traditions. You know 
Allen, my aunt lives quietly, unostentatiously. 
During the first week of my visit, Mr. Brent- 
ford was absent from the city. I felt myself 
an Arctic explorer — and every society man a 
glacier.” 

“The snobs,” interrupted Allen. 

“In return to my little bow, they would 
give me a haughty stare, glance furtively 
around the street, then barely touch their- 


46 


TILLIE 


hands to their hats. Later, as evidence of 
my social progress, the staring eyes became 
cognizant of my presence, and the hat was 
slightly, very slightly — it wouldn’t do to run 
risks — lifted from the head. But, when King 
Cophetua returned and smiled upon the beg- 
gar maid — presto ! change ! Off came the hats, 
high in air, with out-ward sweep — deep bows 
and smiles, and Miss Daveril became quite 
the fashion. ‘What fools we mortals be.’ But 
Allen, I must confess,” and Tillie smiled 
archly into his face, “that it was an immense 
satisfaction to see several of those glaciers 
quite melted before I left, and in reply to per- 
tinent questions, tell them, there is ‘an early 
attachment.’ But ah, there is Brookside.” 


The tall grey chimneys of Creston Lodge 
rose above the tree tops; the red roof of 
Daveril Dell tinted the foilage, and the lofty 
spire of Brookside school house cleft the sky- 
line. 

Tillie didn’t get her beauty nap that after- 
noon, the pleasure and excitement of being 
home keeping her very wide awake. She 
roamed about the place with smiles and greet- 


T I L L I E 


47 


ings for all. To the stable to see the horses; 
to the kitchen to chat with Mammy Letty; 
then to the long cool gallery, where with a 
happy little sigh — she sank on a low seat, 
between her father and mother. But she 
arose quickly, with dignity, when William 
appeared very polite and obsequious, bearing 
fruits and flowers. 

“With Mr. Allen’s compliments, Miss 
Tillie.” 

Secretly, Tillie stood much in awe of Wil- 
liam, a grey-haired old negro — a Chesterfield, 
suave and dignified, with courtly bearing, and 
educated beyond his fellows. 

Tillie felt that her unconventional manner 
must shock his sense of propriety, and idea of 
what the future mistress of Creston Lodge 
should be. William was born a slave on the 
Creston estate, and his devotion to the place, 
and to Allen, was intense. 

About the tea table, the Daverils and their 
guests were gathered — Louie Graham, Doctor 
Thurston and Allen. 

“Why isn’t Leslie Brentford with us to- 
night; where is he stopping?” asked Mr. 
Daveril. 

“With his cousins, the Peytons,” answered 
Louie. 


48 


T I L L I E 


“Dear, delightful Louie,” said Tillie, “she 
knows everything about everybody.” 

“How do you suppose I would exist in this 
stupid place, if it were not for gossip? 

Gossip! Of ‘woman’s life a part,’ 

Gossip! The life blood of man’s heart.” 

“Hold, woman !” cried Theodore, with tragic 
gesture, rising, “I have endured your irony, 
your ridicule, your silly chatter, your brainless 
vaporings, but this is too, too much!” and Ted 
sank exhausted into his chair. “Your poetry 
is the camel that breaks the straw’s back.” 

“May be it is the camel that couldn’t go 
through the eye of a needle,” said Doctor 
Thurston. 

“I see no connection between needles and 
Louie’s poetry,” said Allen, “a needle is sharp, 
a needle has a point, and Louie’s poetry is 
neither sharp nor pointed.” 

“You malign Louie’s poetic effusion. A 
needle can sew, sew, and Louie’s poetry is ‘so, 
so,’ ” said Elsie, teasingly. 

“ ‘Et tu Brute’ — and this from Elsie! ‘Now 
let loose the dogs of war! Oh, ye gods! Ye 
gods ! must I endure all this?’ ” with tragic up- 
throwing of hands. 

“‘All this? Ay more: Fret till your proud 
heart break,’ ” replied Ted. 


T I L L I E 


49 


“Mrs. Daveril, I think this is a conspiracy 
to divert my attention from your lovely sup- 
per — but I shall foil these base conspirators 
by keeping silence, and eating.” 

But in a moment Louie laid down her knife 
and fork and said in tragic tones : 

“Tillie, they will be out tonight love. The 
halt, the maimed, the blind, will be out at 
the garden party. They will be carried there 
in chairs, on cots, on crutches. They will go 
in oxcarts, mule wagons, and on foot, with 
their shoes in their hands. And over all the 
moon will shed its soft weird light. Oh, we’ve 
done it up in style Tillie! And it was all the 
brilliant idea of Ted and Allen.” 

“What! Ted and Allen have an idea! 
My brain refutes the thought,” replied Tillie. 

“Yes they had an idea, but you see it took 
the two brains to evolve one thought, and 
the invitation list shows the nature of their 
grey matter. They said you would be disap- 
pointed and wounded if any of your friends, 
no matter how humble, were left out.” 

“Dear boys, ’ ’ and Tillie smiled fondly upon 
them. 

“So,” continued Louie, “there will be no 
vacant chair tonight. Old Mrs. Jones was 
invited because she has rheumatism; Mrs. 


50 


T I L L I E 


Smith because she has seen better days, and 
is sensitive; Mrs. Brown because the twins 
had measles last winter and kept her confined 
at home; old Mr. Black because he has gout 
and is very cross. So on down the list; it will 
be more like a political rally than a garden 
party ; and were the idea conceived by others 
than Ted and Allen, I would say they were 
seeking office — but I know they are not quite 
so dead to shame as to impose themselves up- 
on an intelligent constituency.” 

“The hour draws nigh. We must hie us to 
the festive scene,” said Ted as they arose 
from the table. 


TILUE 


51 


v 


Allen and Tillie stood a moment apart from 
the crowd. Tillie’s glance passed over the 
brilliantly lighted lawn — her gaze roved from 
group to group, that passed merrily to and 
from. Allen’s handsome face glowed with 
love and pride, as his eyes, with a look of 
fond proprietorship in their dark depths, rest- 
ed upon the beautiful girl at his side. Tillie’s 
sheer white draperies fell in graceful sweep 
about her lissome form; a pink rose nestled in 
the soft tendrils that clustered about her broad 
white brow; dimples peeped in and out the 
rounded cheeks, red as the rose, blushing un- 
der the dew’s soft kiss — the eyes, sweet and 
tender, glowed and sparkled like stars. Tillie, 
looking up, caught Allen’s intent gaze, and 
smiled and blushed. 

“Allen, the whole county seems to be here. 
Louie’s nonsense seems to have been built 
upon fact, for I see faces here I haven’t seen 
before, since I was a child.” 


52 


T I L L I E 


“Yes Tillie, it is a neighborhood gathering.’’ 

“Come Allen, let us go and shake hands 
with all of our old friends, before we are lost 
in the reveling throng.” 

They made the circuit of the grounds, going 
from group to group, seeking those on the 
outskirts, where timid fathers and mothers 
with bashful children about their knees, sat 
in silence. Everywhere faces brightened at 
her coming. Old women held her soft, white 
hands, sparkling with gems, affectionately in 
their hard, wrinkled ones, saying: 

“The same little Tillie — only taller and pret- 
tier — but the same kind heart,” gazing admir- 
ingly at the beautiful, elegant girl. 

“And this is Colonel Creston’s boy,” the 
men would say. “You make a likely pair,” 
unmindful of the fierce blushes rioting in 
Allen’s and Tillie’s faces. “Be the man your 
father was, Allen, and the county will be 
proud of you.” 

From friend to friend they passed, Tillie 
with smiles and handclasps, and friendly in- 
quiries for all, answering their many questions 
with simple frankness, and telling pleasing bits 
of gossip. As she passed on her way, with 
friendly parting word, and kindly, smiling 
backward glance, the smiles lingered on the 


T I L L I E 


53 


tired, worn faces, and a brighter light shone 
in their eyes. The magic of her presence 
broke the stolid silence, and neighbors gath- 
ered together and indulged in friendly chat 
and laughter, as they watched the kaliedos- 
copic scene before them, and listened to the 
soft, sweet strains of the music. 

“What an admirable wife for a politician 
you would make, Miss Daveril,” and the clear, 
deep tones of Leslie Brentford’s voice told 
Tillie of his presence. 

A look of hurt indignation passed over 
Tillie’s mobile face, as she replied, holding 
out her hand in greeting: 

“Mr. Brentford,” with a reproving inflec- 
tion, “these are my life-long friends, and I 
am genuinely glad to see them. Verily, the 
political virus is deep sunken, that your vision 
distorts a plump, smiling, rustic maid into ‘a 
lean and hungry Cassius’ with ends to further.” 

“Pray, Miss Daveril,” replied Leslie Brent- 
ford, after exchanging greetings with Allen, 
“do not misconstrue my words; they were 
meant to be complimentary, but I expressed 
myself awkwardly. You have the tact, and 
kindly spirit that render scheming duplicity 
unnecessary. You win the masses by sheer 
kindness of heart.” 


54 


T I L L I E 


“Ah, that compliment quite atones for the 
insinuation of a moment ago,” replied Tillie, 
smiling. 

They walked slowly along, Allen and Tillie 
pausing to introduce Mr. Brentford to their 
friends whom they met in the passing crowd; 
then they went on down to the old oak tree, 
which vied with the dancing pavilion, and the 
school house, in fantastic glitter of lights. 

Louie Graham, a vision of dainty blonde 
loveliness, met them with outstretched hands, 
“Welcome! queen of Love and Beauty, to this 
most royal court of honor;” with a graceful 
sweep of the hand around the gaudily decor- 
ated space. 

“Court of honor ! Isn’t the grandiloquent 
name redolent of Louie,” laughed Tillie. 
“Look, scorn er, and tell me if this scene does 
not dazzle and bewilder you. Look upon this 
grand old oak above us, sparkling, glittering, 
scintillating with myriad — myriad — ” 

“Tallow candles,” anti-climaxed Ted, sol- 
emnly. 

“Twinkling lights,” continued Louie, un- 
abashed. “Look upon these downy cushions, 
in rich profusion spread — ” 

“Upon a carpet red,” finished Ted, poet- 
ically inclined. 


T I L L I E 


55 


“Look upon these restful couches, these—” 

“Hide-bottom chairs, and sit down in one if 
you want to,” invited Ted, hospitably. 

“Tillie,” continued Louie, “the beauty and 
chivalry — ” 

“And gouty Mr. Black,” supplemented 
Ted. 

“Mr. Brentford,” said Louie with an air of 
resignation, “you will observe that Mr. Dav- 
eril has the fault, common to all young boys, 
of interrupting their superiors.” 

“Say elders, Louie,” said Ted, but he col- 
ored hotly, for he and Allen, like David Cop- 
perfield, “felt very young,” in Leslie Brent- 
ford’s presence. 

Then Louie proceeded, rhapsodically : 

“To think, we have known Tillie all our 
lives ; that we went to school with her — played 
dolls with her — waded in the brook with her; 
pushed her off of our back steps, and told her 
to take her old shabby dolls home, and stay 
there; that my ma did not want nice, little, 
lady-like me, to play with her, no how — 
for she wasn’t anything but a little old tom- 
boy. To think that I once said those things 
to her, whom the city has discovered is the 
beautiful Miss Daveril of Blank county, oh — ” 


56 


T I L L I E 


“Ladies and gentlemen, pray be seated; 
standing will be tiresome, for Miss Graham is 
wound up in one of her interminable — I use 
the word out of deference to the presence of 
ladies — a stronger, more emphatic one is in 
my mind — flights of oratory. Mark Antony 
was not a circumstance to her.” 

“Now, Ted, you’ve made me forget what I 
wanted to say,” pouted Louie. 

“Thank Heaven,” piously from Ted and 
similar approving expressions from all. 

“Mr. Brentford,” asked Louie, “what most 
impresses you here tonight in our crude at- 
tempt at artistic decoration?” 

“The titles — I haven’t met a man here who 
isn’t a general, a colonel or a captain. I 
thought I must have entered a military post, 
by mistake.” 

“There is not a private in Brookside,” said 
Allen. “Such an one would be ostracised.” 

“Breathes there a Southern man with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said — ” 

“But as for me give me death, or give me a 
title,” paraphrased Theodore. 

“Joking aside, Miss Graham, this is like a 
glimpse of fairy land, Brookside has always 
been a ‘sweet Auburn’ of lavendered mem- 
ories with me. I have known from my youth 


T I L L I E 


57 


up, that it excels in whatever it undertakes,” 
said Leslie Brentford. 

“Say, Tillie,” said Ted, turning to his sister 
who stood talking with Allen, Doctor Thurston 
and Elsie, “we struck a snag when we got to 
the dancing pavilion.” 

“The dancing pavilion is very much in evi- 
dence,” answered Tillie. 

“Yes, steered over the shoals by a Richelieu 
in a tailor-made gown.” 

“The plot thickens! ’Scheherazade, I pray 
you make an end of your story,” quoted Tillie. 

“When Allen and I laid our plans for this 
garden party before the school board, we got 
gracious permission to proceed, from all, save 
Deacon Tranby. When we mentioned a pa- 
vilion for dancing, a string band from the 
city — no wheezy, squeezy, town instrument of 
torture for Brookside — the old gentleman 
drawled out, with a nasal twang: 

‘No, Theodore, I kaint set my official seal 
of approval on no such pernicious practices. 
Satan’s rampant in these parts, naow.’ ” 

“Oh, Ted, don’t make light of religious mat- 
ters,” said Elsie very seriously. 

“Religious matters! Do you call Deacon 
Tranby religious matters?” 


58 


T I L L I E 


“You wouldn’t Elsie, if you once traded 
horses with him,” said Allen. 

“Well, Tillie, when we saw that we couldn’t 
move the old fellow — from the ark of our 
hopes we sent a dove — ” 

“Louie?” asked Tillie. 

“Louie? Louie was the brand the Deacon 
hoped to snatch from the fire, so Louie Gra- 
ham was carefully kept in the background, 
during our diplomatic relations with the Dea- 
con. In our first interview with him, we told 
him that it would be impossible for Miss Gra- 
ham to attend the garden party, that Doctor 
Thurston said she had bronchitis, meningitis, 
dipsomania, kleptomania — ” 

“And slap-him mania!” exclaimed Louie, 
but Ted ducked his curly head in time to avoid 
the blow. 

“So, Tillie, we sent the gentle Elsie. The 
Deacon had always professed an admiration 
for Elsie because she is so ‘different from that 
t’other Daveril ga’url;’ but Elsie went over 
to the enemy’s camp; she returned, a traitor, 
with tears in her eyes, saying the Deacon 
was right, and we were wrong — he had a duty 
to perform; and then we sent — ” 

“A raven,” said Louie. 


T I L L I E 


59 


“No; a bird of Paradise !” said Allen en- 
thusiastically. 

“Mrs. Barbee” — added Theodore, melodra- 
matically, “And she returned with her shield, 
but not with a hail-to-the-chief air — ” 

“Oh no,” interrupted Louie, “she came back 
as meek as a cooing dove, and made these 
two silly boys feel that the victory was won 
solely through their diplomatic skill.” 

“Anyway,” said Ted, “there stands the re- 
sult — that brilliantly lighted pavilion, whereon 
are dancing city, town and country beaux and 
belles.” 

“But I don’t know how she won the old fel- 
low over,” said Allen musingly. 

“Well I do,” said Louie, emphatically. “She 
dressed herself in her most fetching gown — 
she went to the Deacon with those great, lus- 
trous brown eyes swimming in crystal seas — 
she let one little jeweled hand gently grasp the 
lapel of his old jeans coat — she told him that 
they — he and she — must be very patient and 
tender with the faults of the young — that many 
a straying lamb had been saved by kindly in- 
dulgence — that she verily believed that if those 
two hardened wretches — Allen Creston and 
Theodore Daveril — were tenderly dealt with, 
that they might yet be brought to see the error 


60 


T I L L I E 


of their ways. That even she, in her opulent 
days of the past, had danced, and even now 
she felt that if for a fleeting moment, she 
might forget her sorrows in the mazy whirl ; 
life might be for a moment, a ‘grand sweet 
song’ — that latter, to prepare him for seeing 
her dancing tonight. Before her wiles and 
blandishments, the Deacon slunk away, and 
the Man, answered — yes! Magnetism is a gift 
of the gods; but though heaven-sent, ’tis not 
always heaven -bent.” 

“You must have eavesdropped, Louie,” 
said Ted. 

But Leslie Brentford answered for her. 

“A deductive mind finds evidence in intang- 
ible trifles; a slap in the face from cold, hard 
facts is needed only by the obtuse.” 

“Who is Mrs. Barbee?” asked Tillie. 

“A charming accession to the neighbor- 
hood,” answered Allen. 

“Colonel and Mrs. Barbee are city people, 
who have recently moved to a farm that he 
owns, in the neighborhood; I understand that 
it is all that is left him of a once very fine for- 
tune,” said Elsie. 

“And it, in its present condition wouldn’t 
pasture a goat — the farm, not the fortune — I 
mean,” added Ted. 


T I L L I E 


61 


“Mrs. Barbee is his second wife, and a very 
charming, attractive woman,” continued Elsie. 

Tillie turned to Louie. 

“Louie, who is that beautiful young crea- 
ture — that divinity in primrose, meshed in 
glittering gauze — coming this way? Surely 
she is not a Brookside product.” 

“That is Mrs. Barbee.” 

“The wave of destitution that stranded her 
on this benighted spot, seems to have swept 
a trunk of pretty clothes and jewels in with 
her.” 

A dark, beautiful face was smiling into Til- 
lie’s, and a soft, low voice was saying: 

“So this is Miss Daveril! How charmed we 
are to have you home again ! It has been so 
lonely for Mr. Creston, but Colonel Barbee 
and I have cheered him all we could. Miss 
Daveril, this is Colonel Barbee,” and a tall, 
grey mustached man was bowing with pomp- 
ous dignity before Tillie and telling her how 
charmed he was to know her. Mrs. Barbee 
swept her trailing draperies with slow grace, 
over where Leslie Brentford stood — holding 
out her little jeweled hand, her dark eyes 
glowing upon him. 

“Ah, Mr. Brentford! You are like a breath 
from ‘mine own native heath.’ Tell me the 


62 


T I L L I E 


news of the city. We are out of the world here 
Mr. Brentford, but its roar reaches us and we 
hear great things of you. We are watching 
your career with great interest. It is gratify- 
ing to see the honest man crowd out the 
demagogue, in politics, Mr. Brentford — the 
country stands in need of statesmen — among 
such, in time, I am sure you will be num- 
bered.” Then turning to Allen and Theodore 
and smiling into their beaming faces, “Ah, 
our young Ward McAlisters, your initial func- 
tion is a grand, brilliant success! The lawn- 
party reflects credit upon the two who planned 
and managed it. Ah, that divine music! 
Yes, Mr. Daveril, I remember that my first 
waltz was promised to you ” 


T I L L I E 


63 


VI 


“Tillie, you haven’t seen my new horse,” 
said Allen the day after the garden party. 
He and Tillie stood chatting on the step. 

“Can’t you, Elsie and Ted walk over with 
me now, to see her?” 

“I suppose so. Louie Graham and Mr. 
Brentford are in the sitting-room, but I’m 
quite sure they will be pleased to go. Come 
in, and we will see.” 

After greetings were exchanged, Allen an- 
nounced the purpose of his call, all according 
an eager acceptance of the invitation. 

“Come, we will go this nearer way,” and 
Tillie and Allen led on through the orchard, 
Elsie and Leslie Brentford following, Ted and 
Louie bringing up the rear, 

“We are the rear guard of the army,” 
quoted Ted in stentorian tones. 

“Don’t be so noisy, Teddie boy,” called 
back Tillie, “we all know that if you were 
anywhere in an army, it would be in the rear.” 


64 


T I L L I E 


“And I so tenderly reared.” 

Deep groans from all. 

“Your jeers affect me not,” continued Ted, 
“for I have that within me which lifts me 
above the darts of envy, for ‘my mind a king- 
dom is.’ ” 

“Limited monarchy, Teddy?” asked Louie. 

“Ted, you must be compiling a book of fa- 
miliar quotations,” said Allen. 

“That ‘mine own familiar friend’ would join 
in the rabble against me.” 

When they entered the paddock, a groom 
came forward leading a beautiful bay mare, 
who walked with high, haughty steps, and 
poised her head proudly, as if conscious of 
the blue blood flowing in her veins. 

“Oh, what a beauty!” cried Tillie, patting 
the restive creature’s velvety arched neck. 

All admired and petted the beautiful animal, 
who tossed her head proudly and impatiently 
in response to each caress. 

“Mr. Creston has a fine stable of horses. 
Mr. Brentford, I would like you to see them.” 

“Certainly, Ted, take Mr. Brentford and the 
ladies through; I will join you in a moment. 
Go with Mr. Daveril, Joe,” taking the bridle 
from the groom’s hand. 


TILLIE 


65 


Allen stood holding the bridle in one hand, 
the other arm thrown over the horse’s neck. 
Tillie patted the tossing head. 

“Oh, you dear creature!” 

“Do you mean me, or the horse, Tillie?” 

“Both,” laughing and blushing. 

“She is to be your’s, Tillie,” looking tenderly 
into the sweet, upturned face. 

“Mine? Oh, thank you, Allen.” 

“She is not yet quite gentle enough for a 
lady to mount, but will be soon, then I will 
send her over to you, unless,” slowly and 
earnestly looking into her eyes, “you will 
come to us? Tillie, I am so lonely in this 
big house without you.” 

“Not yet Allen, perhaps later. We are so 
happy as we are,” with downcast eyes, and 
deepened color, “and we are so young.” 

“Y-e-s,” dubiously, “we are happy, but 
don’t you think the lion’s share of happiness 
is your’s, Tillie, and mine but a meagre part? 
You have your family, hosts of admirers and 
friends, and my unswerving love, while I have 
but the hope of winning you. I am on the 
‘ragged edge of suspense.’ Sometimes, I fear 
that sought after as you are, your love may 
fail me,” with earnest, questioning look. 

Tillie met his gaze frankly, seriously. 


66 


T I L L I E 


“Allen, I have loved you all my life. I can 
not picture my life apart from you, so why 
question my faith? The surface of my nature 
is rippled by the admiration of others, but its 
depths respond only to your heart beats; Al- 
len, dear Allen ! ” 

The tears came into her eyes, and his. and 
both looked silently, intently with love un- 
speakable into each other’s face. He clasped 
the little white jeweled hand, resting so lightly 
on the horse’s neck, and looked with intense 
yearning love into the fair, sweet, serious face. 
His little merry, fsaucy Tillie! — this mood 
seemed foreign to her bright gay nature. 

“Tillie, sweet Tillie,” with a sigh he tore 
his gaze from her face. The horse grew rest- 
ive and pawed the grassy sod with high upris- 
ings of the feet. 

“And you like her, Tillie?” patting the 
mare gently. 

“Oh yes, she is perfect. What is her name?” 

“Sweetheart; named for you — but there is 
but one Tillie in all the world for me — the 
name is too sacred to give to another. Tired, 
Sweetheart? Well, you shall go,” throwing 
the bridle over the mare’s neck and giving her 
a slap, and she bounded away with a snort, 
nd shake of head and mane. 


TILLI E 


67 


The party came up from the stable and Ted 
called out: 

“Allen, we excuse you. We didn’t miss you 
at all. William came in and assisted Joe in 
doing the honors of the stable most graciously. 
William’s courtly dignified manner awed even 
Louie Graham into good behavior.” 

“Then my absence accomplished what my 
presence would have failed in.” 

“Doubtless your presence elsewhere accom- 
plished much, Mr. Creston,” said Leslie, with 
a meaning smile and glance at Tillie, who 
blushed furiously. 

“Not quite all I had hoped for, Mr. Brent- 
ford,” with dignity. 

They walked slowly back to the house, and 
took seats on the long, cool gallery. 

William came out bearing a silver tray with 
wine, cake and fruit. 

“Ah, William, this is refreshing,” said Ted, 
clinking the ice in the fragile crystal glass. 
“ ‘Many have done nobly, but thou excellest 
them all.’ 

‘Nature form’d but one such man, 

And broke the die— in moulding — ’ 

William!” 

The last word was brought out loudly, but 
William was not to be startled from his accus- 


68 


T I L L I E 


tomed serenity, and smiled benignantly, con- 
descendingly on Ted. 

“Oh, Allen, ‘a horse, ahorse,’ — and what is 
of less consequence, a woman — at your bach- 
elor gates,” and Ted peered down the avenued 
walk. “I retract my words; in this instance 
the woman is of more consequence than the 
horse, for it is Mrs. Barbee.” 

Allen arose and went to the gate. Mrs. Bar- 
bee placed her hand in his and sprang lightly 
to the ground. The group on the gallery 
watched them as they came slowly up the long 
white walk. Mrs. Barbee, in perfectly fit- 
tingriding habit, moved with slow, easy grace, 
holding Allen’s rapt attention by her conver- 
sation and magnetic presence. 

“Tillie, he has forgotten you,” said Louie in 
a loud whisper. 

“Hush, Iago,” said Ted. 

Tillie made no answer, but her red lips curved 
in a little smile. 

“What a stunner she is!” said Ted. 

Leslie Brentford gazed critically at Mrs. 
Barbee, as if studying her, saying: 

“She is one of the most irresistibly attract- 
ive woman I ever met. It is a pity she has so 
circumscribed a field as Brookside.” 


T I L L I E 


69 


“Her admirers atone by their ardor, for the 
limitations of her field,” answered Louie. 
“Ted and Allen have eyes and ears for no one 
when she is about. 1 ’ 

“Louie, jealousy ill becomes a woman,” re- 
torted Ted, with mock dignity. 

Tillie sat silent, listening to the conversa- 
tion, and watching Allen and Mrs. Barbee 
as they came slowly up the walk. An unex- 
plainable chill touched her gay spirits, and a 
shadow flitted across her face. 

Leslie Brentford bent a yearning, tense look 
upon her face for one moment, then with a 
sigh, turned his head away. Tillie felt the 
look and heard the sigh, and a faint pink flush 
swept over her face. 

“You look sad, Miss Daveril.” 

“I? That is but your fancy.” 

Here Allen and Mrs. Barbee came up the 
steps; the gentlemen arose, Mr. Brentford 
greeting her with quiet dignity, Ted with ef- 
fusive cordiality, and the ladies meeting her 
outstretched hand, and smile, with answering 
ones. 

“How lovely to meet you all here ! Colonel 
Barbee regretted that he had not the time to 
come with me. The Colonel and I have been 
holding a family council — we think it proper 


70 


TILUE 


Brookside should show its appreciation of Mr. 
Brentford’s presence, and I came over to no- 
tify Mr. Creston and Mr. Daveril of their ap- 
pointment as ‘ways and means’ committee, to 
devise some plan of entertainment.” 

“I appreciate the thought, Mrs. Barbee, I 
assure you, but don’t, pray, give yourselves 
any trouble on my account.” 

“It will be a pleasure, Mr. Brentford, to en- 
tertain in your honor. Whenever a social di- 
lemma confronts me, Miss Daveril, I always 
consult your brother and Mr. Creston,” turn- 
ing her dark smiling face toward Tillie, “and 
they unfailingly straighten the tangle.” 

“Glad to hear that Allen and Ted have be- 
come such social experts,” answered Tillie 
simply. 

“Wish Ted would straighten out his own 
kinks,” laughed Louie, but Theodore had no 
answering smile or word, his gaze being rivet- 
ed upon Mrs. Barbee’s attractive face. 

“The candle and the moth,” murmured 
Leslie Brentford, in low tones to Tillie, smiling 
at the boy’s look of rapt admiration, but Tillie 
frowned and bit her lip. 

“Mr. Creston being free from family ties is 
more master of his time, so I bring my social 
perplexities to him.” 


T I L L I E 


71 


“Why not take them to your husband, Mrs. 
Barbee?’’ asked Tillie with directness. 

Leslie Brentford placed his hands upon his 
lips to hide a covert smile, as a momentary 
shade of embarrassment fell upon Mrs. Bar- 
bee’s face. 

“Oh, Miss Daveril, Colonel Barbee is so im- 
mersed in business and his books; he leaves 
social matters to me.” 

“How unfortunate,” replied honest Tillie, 
“that your tastes are not congenial.” 

Mrs. Barbee smiled benignantly into the 
fresh girlish face, then turned to Allen. 

“What do you suggest, Mr. Creston, in the 
nature of an entertainment? Wouldn’t Mr. 
Brentford enjoy a picnic, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, yes, a picnic!” said Ted rising, “let it 
be a picnic by all means. Lemon pies — bugs 
— ants — and other rural delights to charm, 
shall be spread for Mr. Brentford’s effete 
taste.” 

After much discussion the picnic was de- 
cided upon. As Mrs. Barbee rose to take her 
leave Ted remarked : 

“You came just too late to see Allen’s new 
horse, Sweetheart.” 

“You audacious boy!” laughing. 

“Oh, the horse is named Sweetheart.” 


72 


T I L L I E 


“Perhaps Mr. Creston will yet let me see 
his horse?” 

“Certainly,” and excusing himself to his 
guests, Allen walked off with Mrs. Barbee. 

“Well, I call that cool,” disappointedly from 
Ted, who had hoped to be deputed Mrs. Bar- 
bee’s escort to the stable. 

“Miss Daveril, you are enough at home here 
to show me about the grounds, are you not?” 
asked Leslie Brentford. 

Tillie arose with alacrity. 

“I shall be glad to.” 

Their eyes followed Allen and Mrs. Barbee, 
walking slowly across the lawn. 

“Miss Daveril,” answering Tillie’s unspoken 
trend of thought, “there are some women who 
affect men like champagne; their presence 
exhilarates and fascinates — but ’tis not love, 
for love is constant and abiding — and a revul- 
sion of feeling follows when ‘reason regains 
her throne.’ ” 

Tillie gave no answer. Her lips quivered. 

That Allen could leave her for another — and 
she home but a day, after four month’s ab- 
sence, Allen ! who in all her eighteen years of 
life had never been content to be away from 
her. 


T I L L I E 


73 


“Miss Daveril, when you are older, you will 
have learned that man’s master passion is 
vanity, and through it a woman of the world 
can play upon the chords of his nature as the 
harper upon the harp.” Then with sudden 
change of manner. 

“This is a very fine old place. I suppose 
you are already quite fond of it.” 

“Yes,” simply, “I have loved this place 
from my childhood. It seems woven into the 
web of my life. Colonel Creston was a grand 
man — my ambition for Allen is that he may 
be like him.” 

Leslie looked long and steadily into her 
face, and for a moment spoke no word. Then 
letting loose all restraint his words rushed 
in a mad, vehement way that startled her. 

“Allen! Allen! — he is your one absorb- 
ing thought — You talk to me of him, when you 
know that I have carried your image in my 
heart since I first saw your face, years, and 
years, and years ago — when you were a little 
girl of seven! When I made my maiden 
speech, your serious, wondering, baby eyes 
smiled into mine, and gave me courage. I 
swore then, that some day I would come back, 
and marry you. You have been my dream, 
my inspiration. Last winter in the city, when 


74 


T I L L I E 


I told you I loved you, and you told me you 
were engaged, 1 tried to bear my disappoint- 
ment like a man, though it meant the uptear- 
ing of all my hopes, my aspirations. I tried 
to find comfort in the thought that your hap- 
piness was dearer to me than my own. But 
now — now that I see the man of your choice is 
not worthy of you, I shall combat him in every 
honorable way. Oh, Tillie, let me teach you 
to love me!” 

“Mr. Brentford, Mr. Brentford — this is all 
so useless — and so sad. You say you have 
loved me for years. Thus do I feel toward 
Allen — he is part of my life — I have loved him 
all my life.” 

“The love of a boy and a girl!” 

“Yes, the love of a boy and a girl — the 
sweetest, purest, most hallowed of all love — 
save a mother’s — fresh as the morning dew 
upon the flower — pure as the perfume of the 
rose — sweet as violet’s breath — the smiles of 
angels rest upon it. 

“But why do you say Allen is unworthy? 
The charge is unjust, and unworthy of you 
who bring it.” 

“You look at Allen Creston through the rose 
colored glass of love, down the hazy vista of 
long acquaintance. 1 measure him with a 


tillie 


75 


man’s cool dispassionate judgment. The mi- 
croscopic glass of knowledge of human nature, 
discloses to me a dual nature, resting under 
that very fair and suave exterior. But, he 
is the man you love, and were his nature as 
black as Egyptian night, instead of being, as 
you think — as fair as the dawn on Judea’s 
purpling hills — yet would your woman’s heart 
cling all the closer.” 

Tillie threw her head up haughtily, while a 
dark flush swept over her face. 

“You are the first to cast an aspersion on 
Allen Creston, and some day, your nobler self 
will crave my pardon.” 

Down in the paddock Mrs. Barbee was 
caressing and admiring Sweetheart, and say- 
ing in dulcet tones: 

“Oh, Mr. Creston, do let me ride this beau- 
tiful creature some day.” 

“She is not gentle enough for a lady to ride.” 

“But she will be soon. Then?” 

“She is Miss Daveril’s horse.” 

Mrs. Barbee’s face fell. 

“Some day — before you send her to Miss 
Daveril — she is a generous warm hearted girl 
— she would not deprive me of this simple lit- 
tle pleasure,” very pleadingly, with a sad be- 
seeching look in the dark eyes. 


76 


T I L L I E 


“Why, Mrs. Barbee, if you so much desire 
it, I suppose Miss Daveril would not object, 
but—” 

“It would be safer for Miss Daveril if some 
other lady first rode Sweetheart. Thank you. 
Now remember your promise. I used to have 
my own pedigreed riding horse, but it went, 
along with all other comforts and pleasures. 
Oh, Mr. Creston, you know nothing of sorrow; 
you lead a life of lavish ease; you have youth, 
wealth and — love,” with down -dropping of 
the white lids, “and I — I — what have I? My 
life is a grim fight with poverty. I try to be 
brave, but it is hard; oh, so hard. You have 
your life all before you — my golden days are 
past. Though, if Colonel Barbee had one 
friend — one single kind, generous friend — who 
would help to tide him over this embarrass- 
ment, I believe he could yet retrieve his lost 
fortunes. But ah, wishes are vain — for chiv- 
alric friends went with fortune’” 


T I L L I E 


77 


VII 


The picnic was followed, in quick succes- 
sion, by various other entertainments, more 
or less pretentious, at the different country 
homes. Brookside was filled with visitors, 
and Mrs. Barbee kept the neighborhood in 
such a whirl of gaiety, that Elsie declared she 
felt like a dancing dervish. Allen and Theo- 
dore were the ostensible steerers of the social 
boat in its mad rush down stream, but Mrs. 
Barbee’s trained hand was at the helm. 

Leslie Brentford still lingered, and was 
daily at Daveril Dell. Ted pinched Tillie’s 
rosy cheek and said : 

“Leslie Brentford came to the country to 
hunt and fish;- why is it, Miss Daveril, your 
family doesn’t feast on game and fish, during 
his long stay in our midst?” 

“Mr. Brentford hunts with a concentration 
of purpose — he doesn’t scatter his forces,” 
laughed Elsie. “There is but one little bird 
he seeks to snare; he cares naught for other 
game.” 


78 


T ILLIE 


Tillie began to long for the quiet, simple, 
happy life of the old days, before Mrs. Barbee 
became the central figure of their little stage. 
The little circle of friends, true and tried, had 
been so merry and gay, in a warm hearted, 
genuine way — they didn’t need this interlop- 
er, Tillie thought, resentfully. She so seldom 
saw Allen alone — always in a crowd, there to 
be monopolized by Mrs. Barbee, who would 
explain that she needed his advice about an 
entertainment she was planning, etc- Mrs. 
Barbee would say to Allen : 

“Mr. Creston, we must not let Miss Tillie 
get dull, or lonely, or she will leave us and 
fly back to the city. ’ ’ 

Allen would say, in surprise : 

“I am sure Miss Dayeril never seems dull 
or lonely; she has much to occupy her — her 
family — her friends — books — ” 

“And yourself,” smiling sweetly. 

“Yes, n^self.” 


After a time the guests returned to their 
homes, only Leslie Brentford remaining. 

“ ‘The guests are fled, the lights are dead,’ ” 
quoted Ted. 

“And I’m glad of it,” said Tillie. 


TILLIE 


79 


“Oh, yes, you’re glad; Leslie Brentford 
still lingers. But I— whom have I left? Not 
even Louie Graham, for she’s got up a dread- 
ful ‘case’ with that fellow Spencer, from town, 
and I haven’t seen her for a week.” 

They were sitting on the lawn, in the cool 
of the afternoon. Elsie was busy with lace 
work, Doctor Thurston by her side toying with 
the thread. Ted sat tilted back in one chair, 
his feet propped up in another, smoking a 
cigar and lazily watching the curling wreaths 
of smoke through half-closed eyes. 

Tillie sat in a hammock, lazily swinging 
back and forth. A click of the gate made 
them look up 

“Come over, Mr. Brentford,” called out 
Ted; “have a seat — we are all too inert to 
move. We are about to die of stagnation.” 

Leslie drew the chair where his eyes could 
rest upon Tillie’s face. To him her face was 
a flower to be seen; her voice a song to be 
heard; her mind a poem to be read. Today 
there was a brooding, despairing look in his 
eyes that it hurt Tillie to see, and she turned 
her face away to avoid the direct gaze that 
brought a flush to her cheek. 

‘‘Miss Daveril, I’m going home tomorrow,” 
in low tones. 


80 


T I L L I E 


“How we shall miss you! But I trust you 
will come back to us next summer.” 

“Do you think I can stay so long away?” 

“Ted, Mr. Brentford leaves us tomorrow,” 
said Tillie, turning her blushing face away. 

“If you do, we’ll creep into our holes and 
die, and even Mrs. Barbee won’t be able to 
pull us out,” said Ted, dejectedly. 

“Don’t you think there’s too much Mrs. 
Barbee, Ted?” asked Tillie; “that her ubi- 
quity satiates?” 

Ted threw away his cigar, straightened up 
with a quick energy, as he snapped out: 

“Now, listen at that! No matter how sweet 
and good women are, they will be spiteful and 
envious towards each other. Mrs. Barbee has 
done more in six months for Brookside, in a 
social way, than was accomplished in a decade 
before.” 

“Well, Teddy boy, we got along a decade 
without Mrs. Barbee, and I think the neigh- 
borhood did not suffer from ‘a long-felt want.’ 
What has she done?” 

“Nonsense, Tillie! you are bound to see a 
change in the neighborhood — so much of its 
country crudeness has been polished away.” 

“By Mrs. Barbee’s veneering touch,” con- 
tinued Tillie. “But why polish us if we are 


T I L L I E 


81 


happy as we are? I always sympathized with 
the ‘untutored savage’ who had civilization 
thrust upon him, nolens volens. Why ham- 
per the heathen with the burdens of progress 
and enlightenment if he is comfortable and 
happy as he is? We are all barbarians at 
heart, and secretly fret at the trammels of civ- 
ilization. Why go out of our way to hunt up 
people to make miserable? We put plug hats 
on the heads of the demi-nude savage, whis- 
key in his mouth, and a Bible in his hand, and 
say, ‘Oh thou son of nature, be like us; wear 
shoes and have corns; wear hats and have 
headaches; wear shirt waists and stiff collars, 
and curse the day you were born.’ Why 
should Mrs. Barbee force us to belong to 
mothers’ clubs, cooking clubs, literary clubs, 
and clubs innumerable, since we were happy 
in our blissful ignorance?” 

“Speaking of clubs, Miss Daveril, do you 
know their origin?” interrupted Leslie. 

“No.” 

“Saint Peter one day turned his eyes 
toward Earth, and a troubled look swept over 
his face. Calling an angelic courier he said: 
‘I see a growing discontent and restlessness 
among the women on Earth. Go down and 
see what the trouble is about.’ ” 


82 


TILLIE 


“The angel departed. Returning, he stood 
dejectedly before Saint Peter, who asked, 

“ ‘What is the trouble?’ 

“ ‘The women want to vote and hold office, 
as men do.’ 

“ ‘This is serious. Go back and do what 
you can to adjust matters.’ 

“Returning again, the angel bowed low be- 
fore Saint Peter, who asked, 

“‘Well?’ 

“ ‘I organized them into literary clubs, and 
federations, where they can vote and hold 
office; and already they have begun to wire 
pull and stuff the ballot box, and they are 
happy,’ 

“ ‘I fear me,’ said Saint Peter, gazing mus- 
ingly into space.” 

Tillie smiled and said, musingly: 

“Oh, Clubs! How many nonentities you 
have incubated into commonplace entities! 
How much skim milk has curdled along with 
the cream! How many tallow-candle brains 
have flickered their feeble flames in the glare 
of the incandescent!” 

Ted lounged back in his chair, his head 
thrown back into the clasped palms of his 
hands; his eyes filled with smiling affection as 
they rested on Tillie’s sparkling face. 


tilue 


83 


Answering his glance, Tillie said: 

“Mrs. Barbee may have her clubs, Teddy 
boy, and all other social props she needs, 
if she will only let us go back to the old quiet, 
happy life.” Then turning her smiling face 
upon Leslie Brentford, said : 

“Mr. Brentford, you have never been to one 
of our club meetings? No? You have missed 
much. You should hear our heavy weight 
discussions, by heavy v r eight members, on 
the crime of w T earing birds on our hats. Why 
would not a dead bird as willingly adorn a hat 
as a platter? Then, when you see us sit down 
to bountiful tables to dine on chops from bleat- 
ing lambs; cutlets from little tender calves; 
quail on toast; silvery trout from watery 
depths — you must control your risibles, and 
you must not say, ‘consistency, thou art a 
jewel;’ you must remember you have aspira- 
tions, and the club is a power.” 

“Indeed, Miss Daveril, I acknowledge the 
power of the woman’s club — it has cast off its 
swaddling clothes, and whatever subject it 
seriously discusses must have man’s most res- 
pectful consideration.” 

“At last,” said Tillie, “the masculine mind 
has learned that woman is not a joke. Man is 
God s joke — woman is His tear. Nor is it 


84 


TILLIE 


the club alone, you must respect, Mr. Brent- 
ford, you must reckon with mediocrity; the 
mediocre mass rules the world; genius and 
ambition must cater to it, else their em- 
pyrean-seeking wings will be crushed by 
its weight. Win the all-powerful common- 
place, and its lauding breath grows into fame 
wafting breeze.” 

“Pair Portia,” said Ted, “since Mr. Brent- 
ford’s ‘empyrean -seeking wings’ are already 
rustling within the Temple of Success, don’t 
you think your well-meant advice rather stale? 
Ah, here is Allen.” 

Allen Creston came in the gate, and walk- 
ing over joined the group under the trees. 

“Allen, you have just missed a most in- 
structive discourse by Tillie,” said Ted. 

“What was the subject?” asked Allen. 

“Primarily, Mrs. Barbee; incidentally, every 
topic under the sun,” replied Ted. 

“Mrs. Barbee is comprehensive enough to 
embrace many subjects, isn’t she, Mr. Cres- 
ton?” asked Leslie. 

A flush and scowl passed like a flitting 
shadow over Allen’s face, as he answered with 
forced politeness: 

“Mrs. Barbee is undoubtedly an interesting 
subject.” 


T I L L I E 


85 


“And has many interested subjects,” said 
Tillie, flippantly, as she walked over to Leslie’s 
side. 

“Let us go gather some roses,” and they 
walked off together. Allen scowled after them, 
cut and hurt. All were silent a moment, then 
Ted spoke: 

“Pretty cool that, isn’t it, Allen? But Til- 
lie’s out of sorts today; she’s been talking 
such a lot of rubbish as set my teeth on edge.” 

Elsie and Doctor Thurston essayed to make 
conversation, but Allen was moody and silent. 

“Where have you been all day, Allen?” Ted 
asked; “I was over at Creston Lodge this 
morning, and William said you left home very 
early.” 

“I drove Mrs. Barbee in to town. Her horse 
had cut himself on a barbed wire fence, and as I 
had business in town, I went by for her, know- 
ing she had planned to go in this morning.” 

Tillie and Leslie were standing by a rose 
bush near by. Her eyes were bent upon the 
roses; the scissors remained suspended for a 
moment, then came down with a sudden click 
upon the stem of a rose. In a moment they 
rejoined the group, Tillie’s arms full of roses. 
She gave a flower to each, save Allen. With 
witching grace, smiling up into Leslie’s face, 


86 


T I L L I E 


she pinned the loveliest rose upon his coat. 
He looked down at the little soft, white hand, 
lightly touching his coat. He drew a long, 
deep breath, and his teeth cut sharp into his 
lower lip. 

Allen came up and asked, reproachfully, in 
low tones, 

“Tillie, haven’t you a flower for me?” 

“Yes;” taking from the bunch a great bold, 
flaunting, blood red rose, with long thorned 
stem, she gave it him, saying, “Take this 
to Mrs. Barbee;” with a little hard laugh, 
turned and walked into the house. 

Allen courteously said good-bye to all, 
abruptly left, leaving the crimson rose lying, 
like a stain, upon the grass. Soon Elsie and 
Ted were left alone. 

“Elsie, what is the matter with Tillie? I 
never saw her so cool to Allen before.” 

“I don’t know, Ted, but I fancy she thinks 
he is rather too attentive to Mrs. Barbee for 
an engaged young man.” 

“Mrs. Barbee! The preposterous idea! I 
did think, Elsie, you were above such little- 
ness. Why, Mrs. Barbee, besides being a 
married woman, is five years older than 
Allen.” 

“You don’t know the world yet, Teddy.” 


T I L L I E 


87 


“The idea of Tillie being jealous !” 

“I hardly think it is jealousy, Ted; but like- 
ly she resents Mrs. Barbee’s usurpation of 
Allen; you ; know she does monopolize much 
of Allen’s time. He drives her about, does 
errands *for her, and is fast becoming Mrs. 
Barbee’s general utility man. I think it is the 
detriment to Allen’s dignity and character 
that offends Tillie, who is very fine and high- 
minded, and|can tolerate nothing that is not 
noble, upright and manly in a man.” 

Theodore sat a moment in thought. 

“Allen is quite a good deal with Mrs. Bar- 
bee,” he said, reflectively. “But you know 
he and Colonel Barbee are now in business 
together — running a stock farm.” 

“Allen, I suppose, stocking the farm, 
Colonel Barbee furnishing the experience, and 
Mrs. Barbee the grace and charm to gild so 
prosaic a business.” 


88 


T I L L I E 


Vill 


Mrs. Barbee drove slowly along the country 
road. The smile was gone from her dark, at- 
tractive face. The large, dark eyes were full 
of brooding thought. Stopping at her gate, 
her husband came out and gallantly assisted 
her from the buggy. 

“Did you have a pleasant drive, Clara?’ ’ 

“Yes, though a bit lonely. I stopped for a 
moment at Creston Lodge to ask Allen Cres- 
ton to dinner tomorrow.” 

They were going slowly toward the house. 

“What a lovely, well-kept place Creston 
Lodge is ! And this — ” with a derisive sweep 
of the hand towards the dilapidated house 
that confronted them — “is so bare, so dreary, 
so horrible!” She sank down upon the step 
and burst into tears. 

“Why, Clara! I know, my dear — I know it 
is hard for you, but I’m doing the best I can. 
With the loan young Creston has made me I 
hope soon to get on my feet again.” 


T I L L I E 


“You are always getting on your feet,” 
stormily, rising and going on the veranda, 
“but you are like a crawling child! I put you 
on your feet, but you can’t stand; you totter, 
you fall, you drag me down with you. But I 
tell you, I won’t be dragged down !” with a 
stamp of the foot and flashing eyes. “Do you 
suppose I married a man, double my age, for 
this?” with scorn, and a wave of the hand 
towards the unkempt lawn. “I have borne it 
all as bravely as I could. Now, you must 
have money.” 

“Why, Clara, have patience, my dear; I 
am doing the best I can. The money I bor- 
rowed from young Creston has enabled me to 
put this farm in good working order, but you 
know the returns from farming come in slow- 
ly, slowly; and it takes time, my dear; takes 
time.” 

“You must take time by the forelock, and 
that, in this instance, means — Allen Creston.” 

“I think Creston and I will make money out 
of the stock farm when we get it fairly start- 
ed; he has fine blooded stock, and he is send- 
ing many head of horses and cattle over to the 
farm. I think we’ll manage, my dear — I think 
we’ll manage. Young Creston is prodigal and 
generous with hi3 money. Just give me time.” 


90 


T I L L I E 


“You must manage! Give me full sway, 
and I’ll bring him to terms. 1 am sick and 
tired of this life of galling poverty. Tired 1 
Tired ! Do you think that I was meant for 
such a life as this? When I married you, you 
were rich and influential. Who would have 
thought that a few years would find us re- 
duced to poverty, and buried in this desolate, 
forsaken spot!” 

“Clara, I was rich, but you must remember, 
dear, your tastes are very luxurious, and I 
denied you nothing, my dear. Travel, lavish 
hospitality, sumptuous entertainments, ele- 
gant dressing, jewels — all that required 
money; and as long as I had money, Clara, it 
was yours. It was not my fault that all my 
investments turned out badly.* * 

“Fate has been cruel, and I am tired of it 
all. Tired! Tired!’* and she swept into the 
house, leaving the colonel surprised, and 
energetically rubbing his hands together* 
“Dear, dear;” with puzzled air, looking at 
his wife’s disappearing form; “I never saw 
Clara like this before — something must have 
gone wrong!” 

Evidently Colonel Barbee took his wife’s 
advice, and took time by the forelock, for in 


T I L L I E 


91 


the course of a few weeks, his place began to 
wear an air of thrift and prosperity. The 
house, after the renovating touch of repairs 
and paint, adorned the well-kept lawn. Mrs. 
Barbee threw open her doors, with cordial hos- 
pitality, to the neighborhood, and her house 
became the rendezvous of the young people of 
Brookside — only Elsie and Tillie Daveril 
holding aloof. 

The very elect would have felt impelled to 
pause before suspecting Mrs. Barbee of guile. 
Her gaze was so frank and unswerving; her 
smile to candid and sweet; her feminine grace 
so winning, that women, as well as men, felt 
the irresistible charm of her personality. She 
played her game of human chess with con- 
summate skill, and moved her pawns about at 
will. When Tillie saw how fast Allen was be- 
coming but a puppet in Mrs. Barbee’s deft 
hands, her whole soul rose up in indignant 
resentment and rebellion, though she scorned 
to cope with such an antagonist. 


After his talk with Elsie, followed by a vig- 
orous one from his mother, Ted began to see 
Mrs. Barbee in a new light, and he grew to 
share Tillie’s feeling of resentment towards 


S2 


T I L L I E 


the woman who was fast estranging Allen 
from them. Mrs. Daverll had said: 

“Theodore, Mrs. Barbee is a very attractive 
woman — certainly a very magnetic one, and 
may be a perfect lady— I hope she is. But, 
when young men grow indispensable to a 
married woman, it is time for some one to call 
a halt; and if the woman doesn’t, the man 
should; and you, Mr. Theodore, are going to 
halt. You are too young, too plastic, too 
easily flattered — as all men are, vanity being 
a man’s weakest point — to be so much under 
the influence of a woman like Mrs. Barbee, 
and these rides and drives must stop. There 
are plenty of sweet young girls for you to 
show your attentions to. It may be all right 
for Allen to spend so much of his time at the 
Barbee’s, but I never before knew of a case 
where two men being engaged in business to- 
gether, it necessitated a daily conference with 
the wife. Allen, poor boy, is young and vain, 
and he is flattered that a society woman like 
Mrs. Barbee would single him out for her at- 
tentions. Nothing places a man in a more 
eontemptible light than to be dangling from 
the apron strings of another man’s wife. You 
didn’t know a fascinating woman like Mrs. 
Barbee had apron strings, did you, Teddy? 


T I L L I E 


93 : 


You thought they were reserved for the wives 
of hen-pecked husbands, and the mothers of 
goody-goody boys. Well, such women as 
Mrs, Barbee have apron strings, and to see a 
husband dangling from one end, and a young 
man from the other, is a sight to make men 
laugh, and angels weep.” 

Mrs. Daveril talked in a similar strain to 
Allen, who took it kindly, thanking her, and 
saying if she thought his conduct verged in 
the slightest on impropriety, he would discon- 
tinue his visits to the Barbee home, while he 
would be sorry to hurt or offend Colonel, or 
Mrs. Barbee, both of whom were very kind to 
him, and his life was lonely. He and the 
colonel were much interested in their stock 
farm, he continued, and this brought them 
much together. 

Mr. Daveril also talked with Allen, saying: 
“Why, Allen, you are getting to be quite a 
man of business. Hope your ventures will 
prove profitable; but remember the old saying 
about too many irons in the fire. I turned 
your estate over to you in fine condition; 
money in bonds and bank; pedigreed horses 
of value; the plantation bringing in a fine in- 
come. With good management you will al- 
ways be a rich man; but beware of adventur- 


94 


T I L L I E 


ers, Allen. I hope this stock farm venture 
will benefit you, as well as Colonel Barbee; 
he seems to be flourishing like a green bay 
tree; somebody’s hands are being burned — I 
hope not‘yours, Allen?” 

Allen would flush and go into an explana- 
tion of how the business was profitable to him, 
as well as the colonel. Mr. Daveril would 
rejoin : 

“Don’t think me meddlesome, or officious, 
Allen. What I say is in love and kindness. 
Your father and I were boys together, just 
as you and Ted are. He was a noble man, 
and I hope to see you follow in his footsteps. 
He left you and your estate, during your 
minority, in my care, and though you are a 
man now, my interest in your welfare i3 very 
deep.” 

Then Tillie, in a sweet, half-chiding way, 
would ask : 

“Where do you spend your time, Allen? 
We do not see you so often as we used.” 

“I am taking Iago’s advice, Tillie; 1 am 
putting money in my purse.” 

“It rather looks as if you were taking it out 
and putting it in another’s.” 

“Why, Tillie, do you dare impugn your 
future lord’s business acumen?” 


T I L L I E 


95 


“Money, money! I am tired of all this 
greed and scramble for money! We were so 
happy before you became absorbed in busi- 
ness — and the Barbees.” 

“Tillie, a pearl like you needs a rich set- 
ting.” 


T I L L I E 


IX 


“Tillie, go put on your riding habit, and we 
will ride over to see Louie Graham. Allen 
asked to be notified when we go, as he wishes 
to go with us. I will send Oscar over to tell 
him. Elsie has gone with Doctor Thurston to 
see one of his patients.” 

Tillie bounded up the steps, returning in a 
moment, trim and stylish in her dark habit. 

Ted helped her on her horse, then mounted 
his own. In a moment Oscar came up in a 
half run. 

“Marse Allen warn’t dar, sah; William say 
he lef home er hour ago, sah.” 

Tillie ’s pretty face clouded over, but she 
forced away her disappointment, and began a 
merry chat with Ted. 

When well past Creston Lodge, they saw 
two horses coming at a lively canter, far down 
the shady road. They drew near. Black Lee 
and Sweetheart! Allen and Mrs. Barbee! 

“Oh, Ted, she’s riding Sweetheart!” with a 
little catch in her voice. 


T I L L I E 


97 


“Allen ! The graceless fool !” muttered Ted, 
a flush of anger sweeping over his face. 

When Mrs. Barbee and Allen reached them, 
they reined their horses in, Allen by the side 
of Tillie, Mrs. Barbee next to Ted; her face 
was flushed and sparkling, her eyes bright 
and shining, and she was more beautiful than 
Tillie had ever seen her. She leaned over, 
saying sweetly : 

“Miss Daveril, Sweetheart is such a perfect 
traveler; such a peerless beauty; how I envy 
you her possession ! Was it not kind of Mr. 
Creston to give me this exquisite pleasure be 
fore he sends her to you?” and she patted 
Sweetheart’s arched neck gently. 

“Very kind, indeed,” with unsmiling face, 
and haughty poise of the head. Every dart 
that struck her heart wrote its story in Tillie’ s 
honest face, giving Mrs. Barbee secret exul- 
tation. 

“It was kind of Mrs. Barbee to be willing 
to risk herself on Sweetheart. But Mrs. Bar- 
bee is a fearless equestrienne,” said Allen. 

Tillie thought, with a pang, that Allen 
knew she, also, was devoid of fear, mounted 
on a horse. Mrs. Barbee chatted gaily with 
Ted, ignoring his brusque replies and moody 


98 


T I L L I E 


face. Allen tried to engage Tiilie in conver- 
sation, but her replies were monosyllabic. 

Tiilie touched her horse lightly with the 
whip, and with a faint smile and cocl little 
nod, she and Ted dashed down the shady 
road. But their morning was spoiled, and 
they made but a short call at Louie Graham’s, 
even her gay nonsense evoked but weak 
laughter and dreary smiles. On their home- 
ward way Tiilie tried to be merry, but Ted was 
moody and unresponsive. At their gate he 
said, “Go in, Tiilie,” and wheeling his horse 
around, he rode swiftly off towards Creston 
Lodge. 

Tiilie went wearily up stairs to her room, 
and throwing herself upon the bed, burst into 
tears, saying to herself: 

“Dear, dear Sweetheart! I loved her so! 
She is so beautiful! How I had looked for- 
ward to the first ride upon her, with Allen on 
Lee! Now I will never, never touch her 
again.” 

Allen met Ted at the steps and said, genially : 

“Come in, Ted; have a seat.” 

But Ted was too restless to sit. Allen looked 
inquiringly into his unsmiling, cold face. How 
like Tiilie the boy was. Allen’s heart warmed 


TILLIE 


99 


toward this dear boyhood friend, and in a 
voice as tender as a woman’s, he asked: 

“What’s the trouble, Ted?” 

Theodore was honest and direct, and facing 
Allen, and looking him full in the eye, his own 
blazing, and Allen’s full of questioning in- 
quiry, said: 

“Allen, do you think you are showing Tillie 
the courtesy she is entitled to?” 

“I derelict in courtesy to Tillie? What do 
you mean?” 

“It strikes me your assiduous attentions to 
Mrs. Barbee are given at the expense of my 
sister’s dignity and your own.” 

“You talk in riddles — explain yourself.” 

“If you do not understand, it is because you 
are a stupid fool !” 

Allen drew his head up proudly, his face 
white with anger, his nostrils dilating and his 
eyes flashing angrily into Theodore’s. 

“Has Tillie complained of me?” 

“No.” 

“Then why, you presumptuous fool, do you 
interfere in what does not concern you?” 

“Not concern me? Do you suppose my sis- 
ter’s happiness does not concern me? You 
may be indifferent to it, but, by heaven ! it 
touches me closer than anything on earth!” 


i L. of C. 


100 


TILUE 


Allen was about to reply stormily, but a 
suave, pleasant voice behind him said, “Have 
a glass of lemonade, Mr. Allen, Mr. Ted,” 
and turning, he saw William, bearing a waiter 
with glasses of the cool iced drink. William 
had been busy working about the rose bushes 
near the house, and heard the high angry 
voices of the two boys. Being a born diplo- 
mat, a colored Talleyrand, William slipped to 
the rear of the bouse and appeared in time to 
avert possible trouble. The two men were but 
boys to him, and he managed them with the 
same tactful skill he had used to avert their 
childish quarrels in by-gone days. The hot, 
angry men quaffed the cooling drink. William 
stood respectfully by, engaging them in con- 
versation, his long residence with the Crestons 
giving him that privilege. 

“Mr. Allen, they tell me the fish are bitin’ 
fine in Silver Lake. Remember when I took 
you’n Mr. Ted there once, when you was little 
fellows, and you got to fightin’ over an old 
mud turtle, and both fell in the lake? The 
scare took all the fight out of you boys, and 
you both come up out of the water just as lov- 
in’ as you please. I tell you it takes trouble 
to draw folks together, and make ’em humble. 


TILLIE 


101 


We all need a little shadow to make us enjoy 
the sunshine.” 

Before they knew it both boys were laugh- 
ing at the remembrance of their boyish esca- 
pades. William left their presence with dig- 
nified bearing, and sober face, but in the but- 
ler’s pantry he chuckled softly to himself. 

“Now, Allen,” said Ted, kindly, “don’t you 
think you are too much at the Barbees?” 

“Ami?” 

“I think so, and so do others. The gossips 
are busy with your names.” 

“Indeed? What do they say?” coldly con- 
strained. 

“They say you are in the toils of a design- 
ing pair; that you are their financial dupe; 
that by flattery and cajolery they are wheed- 
ling you out of your fortune. My father and 
mother hold this opinion, and they have been 
hoping the glamour would pass away, and 
that you would see this woman in her true 
light. There are bolder ones who whisper 
that the friendship between you and Mrs. Bar- 
bee, begun as a business speculation on her 
part, has passed the platonic stage.” 

“Such a suspicion is an insult to your sis- 
ter!” rising and flashing his stormy eyes into 
Theodore’s face. 


102 


T I L L I E 


“I do not hold that suspicion — if I did, my 
sister, with my consent, would never see you 
again. Don’t be angry, Allen; review your 
conduct, and I think you will see that you 
furnished the kernels for the swine of gossip 
to feed upon. Allen, you are in the toils of a 
designing woman, who will lead you on to 
your ruin. Save yourself before it is too late. 
I speak as your life-long friend, Allen. Do 
not let this vampire suck away your honor, 
your manhood. She and her husband are like 
two ghouls, feasting in grinning glee on the 
corpse of a dead manhood; tearing away, bit 
by bit, honor, truth, integrity, to glut their in- 
satiate greed. Allen ! Allen ! I know my words 
are strong; but I love you, and would save 
you,” putting out a restraining hand as Allen 
arose in white, quivering wrath. 

“Allen!” Ted’s voice quivered, and tears 
rushed to his boyish blue eyes, “think of our 
life before she came into it. So happy, so in- 
nocent. Now there is reserve, deception, and 
you are changed — so changed. You are 
breaking Tillie’s heart, Allen, though she says 
not a word; I can see it. You must choose 
between her and this woman. To couple their 
names is an insult to Tillie. Either you love 
Tillie or you do not. If you do love her, her 


T I L L I E 


103 


happiness and all that concerns her, should be 
as dear to you as to me. If you do not love 
her, then go your way and let her go hers.” 

Allen sat moody, silent, his dark eyes ex- 
pressing the waves of thought that flashed 
through his mind. At last he spoke, in low, 
hoarse tones. 

“Ted, you know I love Tillie more than my 
very life, and have loved her always. I can 
see now what a blatant fool I have been, and 
1 shall cut loose from these people just as soon 
as I can get my business in a shape to do so. 
They have been very kind, hospitable and 
pleasant to me, and I did not realize it was 
with a design ; but now that I look back on 
past events, your suspicion that they have 
been using me as a tool for their financial 
benefit, seems to be borne out by facts. But, 
I have enough of this world’s goods, Ted, to 
help a fallen brother, and if I could put these 
people on their feet again, I was glad to be 
able to do so. Mrs. Barbee’s life seemed hard 
and dull; she had been accustomed to society 
and luxuries; her home is a pleasant place to 
visit; she is agreeable — ” 

“You are rather too young, Allen, to play 
the good Samaritan to a fascinating married 
flirt; or, if you must play the role, throw her 


104 


T I L L I E 


your purse and ride by. Give her your dol- 
lars, but save your manhood; and that you 
can do only by shunning her, for she and 
Colonel Barbee will not loose their grip upon 
you until they have squeezed you dry. Let 
us look at facts, Allen. Less than ten months 
ago the Barbees came to this neighborhood, 
completely broken in fortune, to a ruined, di- 
lapidated farm, with a ramshackle house. 
Today the Colonel owns half-interest in a 
blooded- stock farm; his home place is in fine 
repair; his wife has her carriage and horses, 
and servants; she dresses handsomely, and 
entertains lavishly, for a country home. The 
Colonel left nothing but debts and a bad repu- 
tation behind him, so there can be nothing 
coming to him from the city — but duns. 
Brookside farms are not so productive as to 
yield a fortune, however small, in one year; 
so the prosperity of the Barbees occasions 
much gossip, and I regret to say, Allen, your 
name suffers.” 

Had this talk come from any other than 
Ted — his playmate, his friend, his companion, 
his spirit’s brother — Allen would have resent- 
ed it with furious anger and blows. 

He sat quiet and thoughtful. Then rising, 
with the light of an inward resolve reflected in 


T I L L I E 


105 


bis face, he clasped Theodore’s hand, the two 
looking silently into each others faces. 

“Ted, I have been in the wrong, but I swear, 
as God is some day to be my judge, that never 
again will I do aught to wound Tillie.” 


Early in the afternoon Joe, looking very 
important, and grinning from ear to ear, came 
over to Daveril Dell, leading Sweetheart. 
Tied high up on her fetlock was a tiny blue 
ribbon bow, from which dangled a card. The 
family went into the yard to admire the beau- 
tiful spirited creature ; only Tillie stood aloof, 
on the gallery. Ted untied the card and 
handed it to her. She glanced at the words it 
bore, “Tillie, with love, from Allen,” then it 
fluttered through her fingers and fell to the 
ground. 

“Isn’t she beautiful, Tillie?” asked Elsie, 
smiling. 

“Yes. Take her to the stable, Joe.” 

An hour later Oscar, leading Sweetheart, 
walked dejectedly over to Creston Lodge, mut- 
tering sullenly : 

“White folks sho’ is cu’ious critters.” 

He bore this note to Allen : 


106 


T I L L I E 


“Dear Allen: Thank you, so much, for 
Sweetheart; but she is such a dear, dainty 
little aristocrat, I fear her equine fastidious- 
ness might rebel at the less luxurious quarters 
than those to which she has been accustomed* 
so I return her to you. Tillie.” 

Allen was cut to the heart. 


\ 


T I L L I E 


107 


X 


“Tillie, get your hat, and we will walk over 
to Allen’s. I want to remind him of the pears 
he promised me; I expect he has forgotten 
about them;” and Mrs. Daveril went down 
the steps, and on across the lawn. Tillie 
threw down her book and quickly joined her 
mother. She walked with springing, buoyant 
step, the folds of her garments falling in 
clinging grace about her rounded, girlish 
figure. 

The haze of dying summer hung about the 
clear, blue sky; the dew of morning was on 
the browning grass, and the air was fragrant 
with ripening fruit. They passed on down 
the path, out of the orchard into the pasture, 
where browsing cattle, fresh from their morn- 
ing meal, stood with distended nostrils, drink- 
ing in the grain -scented air. Then on through 
the little strip of wood — bright hued birds and 
butterflies darting in and out the leafy trees. 
The little trailing path ended at a gate at one 
side of the yard at Creston Lodge. Here Mrs. 


108 


T I L L I E 


Daveril and Tillie entered, and passed around 
to the front of the house. On the long, cool 
gallery sat Mrs. Barbee, in faultless attire, 
lazily rocking back and forth, talking to Al- 
len, who sat on the step at her feet, listening 
so intently that he was unconscious of the la- 
dies’ presence until they stood before him. 
He paled to the lips, then rising, in quick con- 
fusion, a wave of dark red surged over his 
face. But quickly mastering himself, he said, 
with a smile, and extended hand: “Good 
morning, Mrs. Daveril; good morning, Tillie; 
come in. I am thrice fortunate this morning 
in having calls from three ladies. I am be- 
loved of the gods.” 

“Let us trust you will not die young,” smil- 
ingly rejoined Mrs. Barbee. 

A cloud swept over Tillie’ s bright, happy 
face, and with a curt “Good morning,” in re- 
ply to Allen’s greeting, and a faint, cool bow 
in response to Mrs. Barbee’s very cordial 
“Good morning,” she remained standing at 
the foot of the stone step. Mrs. Daveril also 
stood in quiet, unsmiling dignity. Allen en- 
tered the gallery and placed chairs for the 
ladies, but when he saw they were not coming 
in, he walked down the steps and stood by 
Tillie’s side. Mrs. Barbee occupied the gal- 


T I L L I E 


109 


lery in solitary state, with elegant composure, 
languidly opening and shutting her ivory fan, 
her dark, magnetic eyes fixed with smiling 
glance, first upon Tillie’s pale cheeks, and 
Allen’s darkly flushing face. 

“I couldn’t resist, Mrs. Daveril,” said Mrs. 
Barbee, in tones of liquid sweetness, “driving 
over this fresh, beautiful morning, to beg the 
loan of the last new novel of Mr. Creston. He 
seems an insatiate devourer of new fiction, 
and I am a literary Lazarus, picking up the 
crumbs from this young Dives’ table.” 

“Quite an apt comparison, Mrs. Barbee, but 
one cannot believe you content with crumbs.” 
Mrs. Barbee colored a faint pink under Mrs. 
Daveril’s steady gaze. 

Allen flushed, but with much cordiality re- 
peated his invitation to the ladies to come in. 

“No, thank you, Allen,” replied Mrs. Da- 
veril; “I came over to remind you of the pears 
you begged me as a favor to accept; but I be- 
lieve, after all, I won’t preserve today — the 
weather is warmer than 1 thought, and the 
walk has tired me.” 

“Pray pardon my negligence about the 
pears, Mrs. Daveril; I will have William gath- 
er them at once, and take them over. Come 
in and rest!” 


no 


TILLIE 


“No, I must go.’’ 

“Then if you will not remain, Mrs. Daveril, 
permit me to send you home in the carriage, 
if you are tired? ’ 

“Thank you, no, Allen.” 

Tillie stood at the foot of the step with the 
cold, proud dignity of a young queen, her 
honest, haughty eyes fixed upon Mrs. Bar- 
bee’s dark, pretty, composed face. With a 
slight, graceful inclination of the head, and a 
brief, quick glance of the eye sweeping Allen’s 
impassive face, she passed with quick step 
out the little gate, her mother following. Al- 
len walked into the hall, and returning with 
his hat in his hand, bowed with courtly grace 
before Mrs. Barbee, saying: 

“Mr3. Barbee, will you kindly excuse me 
for a moment? You will find the book you 
wish on the library table.” With quick, long 
strides he was soon by Tillie’s side. 

“Tillie, you are misjudging me.” 

No word or glance from Tillie. 

“Tillie, how could I prevent her coming to 
my house this morning? I could not order 
her out.” 

“I have made no accusation, or complaint, 
Allen; you are answering your own accusing 
conscience.” 


T I L L I E 


111 


“But I can see that you are offended, 

Time.’’ 

“Go back to your guest, Allen. I am tired; 
I don’t care to talk;” and with languid, list- 
less step, Tillie passed down the little path. 
Allen looked sadly after her, then with a sigh 
turned homeward. Meeting Mrs. Daveril, he 
lifted his hat and paused, but looking him 
sadly in the face she passed on. 


Within the hour Allen wa3 walking up the 
steps at Daveril Dell. Elsie met him at the 
door. 

“Come in, Allen.” 

“Elsie, where is Tillie?” 

“In her room, lying down, I think, Allen. 
She complained of a headache and the heat 
when she returned from her walk.” 

“Please tell her I want to see her?” 

“I hardly think she will come down, she 
seemed too indisposed.” 

“Please — please see, Elsie.” 

Elsie looked inquiringly into the eager, boy- 
ish face, then went up-stairs. 

Tillie was lying on a couch in her room, 
very still and pale, her eyes closed as if asleep. 


112 


T I L L I E 


“Tillie!” Elsie’s voice was very sweet and 
tender. She lifted one little white hand — the 
one on which Allen’s diamond glittered and 
gleamed, and pressed it to her lips. 

“Dearest, Allen is down stairs. Can’t you 
go down for a little while?” 

The eyes did not open, and she turned her 
head wearily away. 

“I am tired, Elsie; my head aches.” 

“Poor Allen looks so sad, Tillie; won’t you 
go down and speak to him?” 

‘‘No, not now. He may come tomorrow.” 

Allen received the message in silence, and 
with an uplifting of the hat, he abruptly 
passed down the graveled walk. 

A little later William came over bearing a 
great hamper of pears for Mrs. Daveril, and a 
small basket heaped with luscious golden 
pears, downy blushing peaches, velvety pur- 
ple grapes, and a bouquet of choice, exquisite 
flowers. 

“For Miss Tillie, with Mr. Allen’s compli- 
ments,” as he handed the smaller basket to 
Mammy Letty. 

“Take the basket up-stairs, Letty, to Tillie,” 
said Mrs. Daveril. Mammy Letty went into 
Tillie’s room and held the basket of fruit and 
flowers up before the recumbent girl. 


T I L L I E 


113 


“Look heah, honey ! ain’t dey pretty? What 
you doin’ lollin’ roun’ lak sick folks? Dat 
ain’t lak mammy’s little old mischievous Tillie. 
You didn’t use ter hav no time fur restin’ ; 
you so feared you gwine miss some fun er 
frolic, you scacely low old Letty ter put you 
to sleep — lowin’ ‘you ain’t sleepy’ — when all 
de time yer pretty little eyes keep er closin’ 
to, while mammy gather yer up in her arms, 
in yer little white gown, and sing ‘Hush-a-by 
baby, ’pon de tree top.’ All de time you keep 
’lowing’ ‘I ain’t sleepy,’ ’til yer little curly 
head hang heavy on mammy’s arm; den I 
low, bless de Lawd, de baby’s ’sleep, and de 
mischief’s dun fur die day. 

“Git up fum dar! you lazy chile, you!” 
and gathering the supple young form in her 
brawny, black arms, bore the laughing girl in 
triumph down stairs, out on the back gallery, 
where Mrs. Daveril and Elsie sat. When she 
saw William, dignified and respectful, stand- 
ing, hat in hand by the kitchen door, Tillie 
sprang to her feet with a quick assumption of 
dignity. As she gave no note or message 
for Allen, William stood in embarrassed 
silence, twirling his hat — then asked: 

“Is there any word, Miss Tillie?” 

“No, William.” 


114 


T I L L I E 


“Law, honey, course dere is; you dun frus- 
trated long er me fetchin* you down stairs. 
Tell Marse Allen, Miss Tillie’s bleeged to 
him.” 

When William was quite out of sight, Mrs. 
Daveril said, imperatively : 

“Letty, get those pears and follow me!” 

Mrs. Daveril went into the yard, Letty fol- 
lowing, bearing the great hamper of pears. 
On they went until they reached the hog lot; 
then, opening the gate, Mrs. Daveril com- 
manded : 

“Pour those pears on the ground, Letty.” 
Mammy Letty stood in open -mouth aston- 
ishment, but after one look into Mrs. Daveril’s 
set, stern face, did as ordered, and poured the 
pears on the ground, where they rolled away 
to be quickly devoured by the grunting, 
squealing, scrambling hogs. 

“Fur de Lawd’s sake!” was Mammy Letty ’s 
sole comment, as she walked slowly back to 
the house. 


T I L I, I E 


115 



When Theodore Daveril learned of Tillie’ s 
meeting with Mrs. Barbee at Creston Lodge, 
and Allen Creston’s betrayal of the solemn 
promise made him, he felt outraged, insulted, 
and a passionate resentment crushed out the 
warm affection he had all his life cherished 
for Allen. That Allen would toy with Tillie’s 
heart in this idle, callous manner, and that 
Tillie would still cling to him, was a poisoned 
dart that rankled deep in Theodore’s proud 
heart. Why wouldn’t she break with Allen! 
Leslie Brentford loved her — he was a man 
any woman might be proud of. Exacting in- 
deed the woman who could not be content 
with all Leslie Brentford had to give — charac- 
ter, wealth, brains, position. Why couldn’t 
Tillie love him? Bah! Tillie a pining, love- 
sick girl! Tillie, courted and admired, to fix 
her heart upon a vain, weak fool — the toy of a 
married flirt. A sweat of impotent rage would 
break out upon Theodore, and he would grasp 
Tillie’s arm roughly, saying: 


116 


T I L L I E 


“Where is your spirit, girl? It is not like 
you, Tillie, to throw your heart in the dust to 
be trampled upon!” 

But never a word would Tillie answer, only 
sigh and walk wearily away. 

Then Theodore, storming under the stings 
of his hurt pride and affection, would go to 
his father and mother, begging them to com- 
mand Tillie to break with Allen. 

“No, Theodore,” Mrs. Daveril would an- 
swer, “Tillie must decide for herself. Allen 
is under the glamour of an infatuation, that 
will soon wear away. He has many sterling, 
noble qualities; -he is young, and in time his 
true manhood will assert itself. We must be 
patient with him for Tillie’s sake.” 

And Mr. Daveril would say: 

“For the sake of his father and the Creston 
name, we must try to save the boy. His love 
for Tillie is his only safe anchor. If we cut 
him adrift now, he goes headlong to ruin.” 

“But don’t immolate Tillie to save Allen,” 
Ted would angrily reply. 

“Tillie makes no sacrifice of herself. She 
loves Allen, and to give him up would be the 
sacrifice,” Mr. Daveril would answer. 

“Our personal feelings, Theodore,” his 
mother would say, “must not be considered. 


TILLIE 


117 


Of course your pride, and mine, prompts us 
to say to Allen Creston, ‘never dark.en our 
doors again;’ but, the affair is Tillie’s; her 
affections are involved, and if we hurt Allen, 
we wound her. Each has her own life to live, 
and must live it as she sees fit and best. No 
other hand than our own can cut and shape 
our lives. There is nothing we can do but 
wait.” 

Ted would reply, 

“Allen is a vain, blind dupe. This woman 
who has entangled him, keeps her place in 
society only by sheer audacity and boldness; 
by the social props she has hedged about her- 
self; by her foolish, or knavish husband’s 
blind faith in her, or his venal acceptance of 
dishonored gain. She is a Napoleon in petti- 
coats — she marshals her forces with consum- 
mate skill. Sex robbed the world of a great 
general.” 

In spite of all, Tillie still loved and trusted 
Allen, holding his youth, his loneliness, his 
generous courtesy, in tender extenuation. 

“Only have faith in me, Tillie, and all will 
come right,” Allen would say. 

“I do trust you, Allen, and will until you 
make trust impossible. You are so alone, my 
poor boy! There seems no one who believes 


118 


T I L L I E 


in you but me. While you wound me, Allen, 
time and again, I cannot think it is with de- 
sign, so I forgive and forget, and love you in 
spite of all, my dear lonely boy.'’ 

Time is kind and gentle to youih, wiping 
away tears and soothing sighs. Allen at last 
seemed to have awakened to a realization of 
his position, and was making strenuous efforts 
to break the chains that bound him. His in- 
nate courtesy and kindness of heart would 
permit him to do nothing rashly — he was en- 
deavoring to sever his business connections 
with Colonel Barbee in a way that would 
leave no sting. He was fast becoming the 
light-hearted boy of yore, and Tillie’s blythe 
gaiety returned. Allen came over daily, and 
Ted, for Tillie’s sake, forgot and forgave 
much, and the happy, golden days seemed to 
have returned. The remembrance of Mrs. 
Barbee was as a dark, half -forgotten dream. 


T I L L I E 


119 


XII 


Mrs. Barbee saw with apprehension that 
the Daverils were fast regaining their influ- 
ence over Allen, and her hold upon him was 
becoming weaker. She realized that imme- 
diate, strategic action was necessary to recov- 
er her waning power over him. Under the 
hypnotic influence of her magnetic personal- 
ity she could mould and shape him as she 
willed, but of late he had shunned her — ‘‘Til- 
lie Daverii’s work, or her officious brother’s,” 
she mused. Something must be done that 
would wound the Daveril’s, and ensnare 
Allen. 


A crisp October day, when the air was like 
wine, and a purple haze mingled with the 
gold of the sunshine, Elsie, Tillie and Ted 
came indoors from a ramble through the 
autumn woods, exhilarated, flushed and mer- 
ry. In the hall stood William, hat in one 


120 


T I L L I E 


hand, in the other bearing cards, which he 
handed, with courtly bow, to the ladies, and 
Theodore — and withdrew. 


Colonel and Mrs. Barbee 
Mr. Allen Creston. 

At Home 
Creston Lodge. 
Dancing. 


The words blurred and swam before Tillie’s 
eyes, and the card dropped from her nerveless 
hand. 

For one brief moment Theodore stood as if 
turned to stone; then with blazing, burning 
eyes, and white, set face, he dashed from the 
room. Elsie and Tillie saw him mount his 
horse and ride swiftly away toward Creston 
Lodge. 

He dismounted at the gate and strode furi- 
ously up the walk, where Allen and Mrs. Bar- 
bee were standing. She was holding the skirt 
of her riding habit with one hand, with the 


TILLIE 


121 


other flicking the flowers with her gold- 
handled riding whip. 

Theodore confronted Allen, his eyes glow- 
ing like coals of fire from out his rigid, white 
face. 

“I am come to answer your invitation !” and 
he threw the shredded bits of paper full in 
Allen Creston’s face. 

For an instant Mrs. Barbee quailed, then 
with a low, silvery laugh, she passed out the 
gate. 

For one brief moment Allen stood in sur- 
prised and indignant astonishment; then he 
sprang upon Theodore, and the two, pallid 
with passion, grappled and fought, breathing 
heavy, panting breaths, crunching the shells 
under their shifting, sliding feet. Allen went 
down, and a knife gleamed in Theodore’s 
hand, flashed in the morning sunlight, then 
came down into Allen’s neck, followed by a 
gush of blood, and leaving a narrow gash. 

William came running up. 

“Oh, young gentlemen ! young gentlemen ! 
what does this mean? Mr. Allen, remember 
this is your house, and he is Miss Tillie’s 
brother.” 

“I think I have given him all that could be 
demanded of hospitality, William — my blood,” 


122 


T I L L I E 


said Allen, with grim satire, walking toward 
the house, his shirt red and wet with blood. 


Elsie and Tillie watched with eager, ques- 
tioning eyes, Theodore’s moody face, but they 
knew his moods too well to question him. 
Tillie sat white and rigid, under a nervous 
tension that threatened to snap and force her 
to either scream or swoon. When it seemed 
she could no longer bear the strain, Allen 
came hurriedly up the walk, and in the door. 
Ted rose quickly and advanced toward him, 
white and quivering with rage, and Mrs. 
Daveril, with haughty dignity, stepped for- 
ward — but Tillie, brushing quickly by them, 
went up to Allen, looking with sad, mournful 
eyes into his pallid face. Seeing the red 
gash, she cried out: 

“Allen, you are hurt! Ted has hurt you!’* 

“Pshaw, Tillie, it is nothing; only a 
scratch,” smiled Allen. 

“Tillie Daveril ! to fawn and cling to the 
man who has insulted her!” muttered Ted, 
angrily, through his clenched teeth, as he 
strode out of the room. 

When he and Tillie were alone, Allen said,, 
with a quiver in his voice : 


T I L L I E 


123 


“Sweet love — my little Tillie! You do not 
reproach me?” 

“Why reproach you, Allen? If you have 
done wrong, the sting of your conscience is 
enough to bear without bitter words from me.” 

“Tillie, I did not mean to wound you — I did 
not think — ” 

“Allen, I am cut to the heart.’’ 

“Tillie, you can’t believe I would intention- 
ally offend you?” 

“No, Allen; but it pains me to see you so 
unstable — so buffeted by every wind that 
blows. And, Allen — surely, Allen, you knew 
how it must seem to my family that you give 
this ball — at your house — with these people?” 

Sorrowful and repentant, Allen looked in- 
tently into Tillie’ s sad, pale face, and said, 
eagerly, nervously, 

“Tillie, let me explain. When you have* 
heard me, you will see that I was actuated 
only by right motives, and that Theodore, in 
his hot-headed, impulsive way, has taken 
needless offense.” 

Tillie sat silent and pale, a sad little smile 
upon her lips, listening to his explanation * 
well knowing the fountain source of his rea~ 
soning. 


124 


TILLIE 


When Allen looked into her eyes for some 
sign of approval, she said : 

“Sophistry, Allen — mere sophistry . Your 
kind, trusting heart blinds you to the evil in 
others. I have not reproached you, Allen, 
but now I make a demand of you — my dignity 
exacts it, and my regard for your dignity and 
standing. This ball must be given up — the 
invitations must be recalled — else you and I 
mu9t part — forever !” Her voice was low and 
sweet, but firm; her air determined. 

“Tillie, you cannot mean you would give 
me up for a trifle like this?” 

“It is not a trifle, Allen. But let us have 
no more words. I have spoken ; you must 
make your decision.” 

“Tillie, can there be but one choice for me, 
do you think? The ball shall be given up, 
the invitations called in, if you feel so strong- 
ly about it. But, Tillie, in return, you must 
promise to marry me — soon — ” 

“Allen, if you are true — and from this day 
forsake all others — yes — in the spring.” 


When William handed Mrs. Barbee a note 
from Allen, she scanned its contents, then 
said, brightly : 


T I L L I E 


125 


“No answer, William.” 

But alone, within the locked doors of her 
room she read it, with rigid face and flashing 
eyes. 

“Mrs. Barbee: For good and sufficient rea- 
sons, I find it impracticable to give the ball at 
Creston Lodge, and the invitations will be re- 
called at once. Trusting the change of plans 
will not inconvenience you, I remain, etc., 

Allen Creston.” 

Brief, cold, curt, almost rude. And this to 
her! This was the crisis in her life. She 
either lost, or held her sway over Allen Cres- 
ton. This day must decide. If she lost — if 
she lost — a long sighing breath quivered 
through her lips. She sat in thought — her 
expressive eyes picturing each emotion of her 
heart — each passing thought. 


126 


T I L L I E 


Xi 8 1 


Allen Creston sat alone in the library at 
■Creston Lodge, writing courteous explanatory 
notes to all to whom invitations to the ball 
had been sent. He felt as if an incubus had 
dropped from his shoulders, and it was a re- 
lief that the ball was declared off. He had 
gone into the matter at first with a feeling of 
reluctance, fearing the Daverils would disap- 
prove, but Colonel and Mrs. Barbee had pre- 
sented the matter in such a practical, plausi- 
ble, sensible way, he began to look at it from 
their standpoint, and his mercurial, boyish 
spirits rose at the prospect of excitement and 
gaiety. 

He had kept his promise to Theodore. He 
had staid away from the Barbee home, and 
was closing out his business with Colonel Bar- 
bee as fast as possible. One morning Colonel 
Barbee and Mrs. Barbee drove over to Cres- 
ton Lodge. They found Allen lonely and 
*moody. He had just returned from a visit to 


T I L L I E 


127 


Tiliie. She had been sweet and trusting, and 
Elsie was kind, but there was a chill in Ted’s 
manner, and a stiffness in Mrs. Daveril’s, that 
robbed his visits of the old-time pleasure. 

Mrs. Barbee came in bright and smiling, 
ignoring Allen’s defection. 

They chatted pleasantly and gaily about 
current matters; then Mrs. Barbee approached 
the subject of the ball. Mrs. Barbee said: 

“Mr. Creston, you should have entertained 
your neighbors on a lavish scale, on your 
coming of age, but you neglected to do so. 
Poor boy ! there was no one to tell you. Every 
man needs a wife or a mother, Mr. Creston. 
Your mother and father would not have for- 
gotten this duty to their neighbors, had they 
been living. Poor lonely boy!” and she 
sighed in a motherly way. “You are like a 
young brother to Colonel Barbee and me; we 
feel a deep interest in you, and we appreciate 
your kindness to us at a time when we most 
needed a friend. Now, the Colonel and I 
have thought it our duty to advise you in this 
matter. You are the richest man in the neigh- 
borhood; your family the oldest; and during 
your father’s and grandfather’s lifetime, the 
most influential — you see I am well posted on 
Brookside history. You have been the recip- 


128 


T I L L I E 


ient of countless courtesies from your neigh- 
bors and friends. Don’t you think it looks a 
little — just a little — penurious to make no re- 
turn? — pardon my plain speaking.” Penuri- 
ous! Big-hearted, generous Allen, penurious! 
Even Colonel Barbee covertly smiled at the 
word. 

“Another thought!” continued Mrs. Bar- 
bee. “You and Colonel Barbee are about to 
dissolve your business connections. You are 
known and loved by all the neighborhood; we 
are strangers and aliens; we are misjudged — 
misunderstood. To sever your business rela- 
tions in this sudden, abrupt way, will leave us 
under a cloud. Is that fair and kind to us, 
who are your true friends? I have been 
harshly criticised by these people; my life 
has been so different from theirs, they cannot 
understand me. Now, I have thought this: 
If we give this ball together — you, Colonel 
Barbee and I — here at Creston Lodge — your 
large billiard room is well adapted for danc- 
ing, and my poor little cottage home is too un- 
pretentious for the master of Creston Lodge — 
it will say to the world — this little narrow 
Brookside world — that Allen Creston and the 
Barbees part friends. And we — the Colonel 
and I — will go on the ‘even tenor of our way,’ 


T I L L I E 


129 


with no added burden of distrust and suspicion 
to bear.” 

Her eyes, with a tinge of sadness in their 
dusky depths, looked into Allen’s boyish, 
handsome face. To say no, to a woman, was 
an impossibility with Allen Creston. Defer- 
ence and unfailing courtesy to women, came 
to him by inheritance and training. An early 
reproof of his father’s had lingered with him 
through life: “Be a gentleman, boy! Be a 
gentleman ! Be a rascal if you will, but, by 
heavens, be a gentleman!” 

Allen wrote on. William came in and add- 
ed fresh fuel to the blazing fire, and turned 
the wicks of the lamp higher. 

“You gave my note to Mrs. Barbee, Wil- 
liam?” 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Allen. There wasn’t any 
answer, she said, sir,” and William quietly 
withdrew. 

Allen’s thoughts were far away with the 
happier days of the future. Tillie’s promise 
to marry him soon, had seemed the closing of 
a door upon a dark past, and the opening to a 
new life. 

A gentle little tap upon the library door was 
unheeded, so intent was Allen upon his writ- 


130 


TILLIE 


ing, and so wrapped in his thoughts. The 
door opened and Mrs. Barbee glided in. A 
subtle odor of tuberose, cloying, sweet — ah, 
how Allen hated the flower, and its perfume 
from that hour — stole upon his senses, and 
caused him to look up. A dark, radiantly 
beautiful face smiled into his, and, gowned in 
silk and laces, with flashing gems as if for a 
ball, Mrs. Barbee stood before him. He 
sprang to his feet and stood gazing in wrapt 
admiration upon the exquisite picture. The 
rounded shoulders gleamed white above the 
snowy meshes of lace, where diamonds, like 
‘‘tangled fire-flies, ” glittered and flashed. One 
blood-red rose, like a crimson stain, lay upon 
her heaving breast; another rested in the 
raven strands of her hair; her dusky eyes 
softly glowed upon him. 

Thus they stood in silence; then her low, 
careless, silvery laugh rang out: 

“What think you, Sir Lancelot? That Guin- 
evere stands before you? Nay; only a woman 
of the world, gowned for the ball of her fan- 
cy — the ball that ‘might have been’ — but for a 
rustic Elaine’s silly jealousy!” Allen’s face 
flushed, and his eyes flashed, but in a moment 
resumed their expression of tense admiration. 
“Do you think me mad? This is the last song 


T I L L I E 


131 


of the dying swan. The martyrs who died 
amid flames at the stake, knew no such an- 
guish as mine. To possess a bail drees like 
this,’’ and she held out the folds of shimmer- 
ing silk, “and there be no ball to wear it to! 
Can you picture darker fate for woman? This 
gown has been wrapped for days in tissue 
paper, awaiting the ball. But tonight, I took 
it from its covering. I will wear it, I said, 
and go show' Allen Creston how bravely 1 can 
bear defeat and disappointment. 1 come with- 
out one word of reproach, for I know the cruel 
thought was not yours — you would not need- 
lessly wound a friendless, unhappy woman. 
But, ah! Allen! what is the jealous whim of a 
silly girl to the blighting of a woman’s name? 
Your courtly, chivalrous manhood must rebel 
at being forced to stab an already wounded 
heart. If you give up the ball, do you not 
know what the gossips will say? You are a 
man, their flings cannot hurt you; but I — I 
must again go forth into the cold world, or 
suffer insulting ostracism. Good-bye. Some 
day, when our ways have drifted asunder, 
think of the woman in whose heart you plant- 
ed an imperishable sting!” 


132 


T I L L I E 


“Mrs. Barbee, if I have wounded you — I 
have done what seemed best and right — if I 
have caused you pain — forgive me — ” 

Her sad, dark eyes looked full into his — she 
put out her little white, jeweled hands, and 
Allen clasped them in his own. 

“Good-bye — good-bye — I am going now; 
but before I go, promise me, you will not thus 
stab me to the heart?” 


That night William bore this note to Tillie: 

“DearTillie: What you ask is impossible. 
To give up the ball, and have the cause be- 
come known — as everything does in this ac- 
cursed place — will be to subject me to criti- 
cism, and make me the laughing-stock of the 
neighborhood. Bear with me yet a little while, 
Tillie, and trust me. Soon we will be married 
and all this horrible doubt, suspicion, and con- 
tention, will end. With love, Allen / 9 

Tillie sat like one stunned. 

Far into the night she sat, wrapped in 
brooding thought. When the grey lines of 
dawn began to color the night’s dark sky, she 
wrote : 

“Dear Leslie: You have told me so often of 
your love. If you come to me now, 1 may 
have a different answer for you. Tillie.” 


T I L L I E 


133 


XIV 


An autumnal night, bathed in the soft, sil- 
very glow of the Southern moon ; the perfume 
of flowers upon the cool evening air. 

With heart oppressed, burdened and lonely, 
Tillie wandered about the moonlit lawn. On 
the still air strains of music, wierd and sweet, 
stole softly through the woodlands from Cres- 
ton Lodge, and lights glimmered fitfully 
through the trees. The ball was on at Cres- 
ton Lodge. Tillie pressed her hand to her 
heart, and closed her eyes to keep back the 
tears. Too late Allen had come, with vows 
and promises, but she had not seen him, nor 
read his pleading letters. Within the house 
Arthur Thurston and Louie Graham were 
with Ted and Elsie, and their gay laughter 
floated out. That anyone could be merry! 
Would she ever laugh again in the old happy 
way? 

There was the sound of wheels rolling down 
the road — the flash of twin lights at the gate — 
the clanging to of a carriage door, the crunch- 


134 


TILLIE 


ing of gravel under a quick, firm tread, and 
Leslie Brentford’s voice called softly from the 
gloom, “Tillie!” and he walked quickly over 
where her white form was silhouetted against 
the dark green foliage. 

He gathered her in his arms, and looked 
into her face with the wrapt devotion an an- 
chorite might bestow upon his patron saint. 
He bent to kiss her, but she placed one hand 
upon her lips, and his hot, fevered lips fell 
upon her cold, jeweled fingers. 

He drew back, chilled and hurt. 

“Tillie, have you sent for me only to tor- 
ture me?” 

She gave no reply, but looked into his brave, 
steadfast eyes. How his presence calmed and 
soothed her! He seemed so protecting — so 
all-sufficient — as if he could defy the very 
thunderbolts of Jove in shielding those whom 
he loved; his strong, vigorous, manly person- 
ality seemed a barrier against every evil. 
Surely — surely in time she would grow to love 
him as he should be loved. 

“Did I seem slow in coming, Tillie? I was 
out of the city when your letter came.” 

“Yes, but I believed you would come.” 

“Believed I would come? Though death 
palsied my form, yet my soul would hear your 


T I L L I E 


135 


whispered call, and come back to say — I love 
you ! I love you !” 

Tillie looked with affright into his glowing, 
sublimated face, and drew back in pain and 
fear. She had sought to play with the eddy- 
ing stream of a babbling brook, and a moun- 
tain torrent swept down and engulfed her. 
She swayed like the pine before the storm. 
She had sent for him, and now that he was 
come, what had she to give? Not one single 
little word of love. But he heeded not her 
silence — he was content that she permitted 
him to love her. 

Conflicting emotions passed through the 
minds of the members of the Daveril family 
when they learned of Tillie’s engagement to 
Leslie Brentford. Elsie was shocked and sad- 
dened, knowing Tillie had no heart to give. 
Theodore was relieved and jubilant, believing 
a woman’s love a thing to grow and flourish 
under cultivation. He felt that Tillie’s wound- 
ed heart would find a safe haven in Leslie’s 
love, and that in time she would forget Allen. 

Mrs. Daveril sighed and said: “I hope it 
will be for your happiness, Tillie.” 

Mr. Daveril felt that a mistake was being 
made, but he felt powerless to adjust matters. 


136 


T I L L I E 


All felt the charm of Leslie’s personality, 
and in time began to think it would be all for 
the best. After a stay of two weeks Leslie 
said good-bye and returned to the city. 

“I must go back to my work, Tillie; it has 
suffered from my long dallying here. Your 
mother has promised that you may spend the 
winter months in the City, with your aunt. I 
shall see you every day, then. Good-bye, 
until I come again, which will be soon, for I 
cannot stay long away from you, Tillie.” 


The week after the ball, Colonel Barbee died 
suddenly, of heart failure. 

“Such a woman for luck!” was Tillie’s sole 
comment. 


Tillie went to the city for the winter season, 
and plunged into the vortex of society with 
much zest. Leslie Brentford was the most 
devoted and attentive of cavaliers, and left 
nothing undone that would contribute to her 
pleasure. Her social success, her beauty, the 
charm of her sparkling vivacity — all filled him 
with tender pride. But, had he not known the 
sterling quality of her character, the tender- 
ness of her heart, doubts and fears would have 


T I L L I E 


137 


beset him when he saw her so besieged with 
admirers, and noted that she received their 
attentions with the pleasure and winning ac- 
ceptance of a coquette. 

The tender softness, the sweet freshness of 
the girl was being tinged with worldly aplomb, 
that gave an added charm and attraction, and 
if Tillie, on her first visit to the City, found 
herself popular, this second season crowned 
her a belle. 

A jest was ever on her smiling, red lips, a 
brilliant sparkle in her eye, and the faint pink 
of the sea shell deepened to carmine in her 
rounded cheek. 

One night at the opera she was one of a gay, 
and brilliant box party. Her soft shoulders 
rose round and white above her silken cor- 
sage, ropes of pearl encircled her neck, and 
in her gold-glinting hair gems flashed and 
glittered. About her stood men whose eyes 
spoke their admiration; by her side stood 
Leslie Brentford. Across the house Allen 
Creston sat, alone. He heard not one note of 
the music, nor saw one action of the play. 
His dark eyes were fixed with despairing, 
yearning gaze upon Tillie’s beautiful, smiling 
face. She turned, and her eyes looked full 
into his — looked with the careless glance of 


138 


T I L L I E 


recognition; she smiled and bowed with in- 
finite grace, then turned her bright face 
toward Leslie, who bent his head to catch her 
words, the light of love in his eyes. He turned 
toward Allen and bowed ; then he and Tillie, 
with smiles and low-spoken words, turned 
their faces toward the stage. 

The next day Allen’s card was sent up to 
Tillie — the next day — and the next — but each 
call found her not at home, or engaged. Allen 
left the city for travel through the North and 
East. 

“Leslie, I’m growing cold, hard and world- 
ly,” said Tillie, one day. “I must — 

‘ — quit a world where strong temptations tr\ r , 

And since ’tis hard to combat, learn to fly.’ 

“I must go home and freshen up my mora 
nature — home to those — 

‘Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 

Seats of my youth, where every sport could please.’ ” 

“I will let you go, Tillie, but remember you 
are to come to me with the roses of June, 
never to leave me again.” 

When the cold, cutting winds of March 
swept through the bare trees, and over the 
bleak fields and meadows, Tillie went home. 


T I L L I E 


139 ' 


XV 


Tillie had come home with a sparkle in her 
eye, and the flush of health upon her cheek, 
delighting her family and friends with her 
buoyant spirits. The old days seemed almost 
to have come back again, though there was 
one form absent from the circle — one name 
that was never spoken. 

“So, Elsie, you and Arthur are to be mar- 
ried at last, in the Summer. Arthur has wait- 
ed for you as patiently, and almost as long, as 
Jacob waited for Rachel. I am glad he has 
such a fine, remunerative practice, and I’m 
sure a happy, contented future awaits you 
both.” Then turning to blushing Louie — 
“And Ted and Louie — you two quarreling 
children — to think you are engaged!” 

“I had it to do, Tillie; had it to do,” said 
Ted, in low, mysterious tones. “Some care- 
less words of mine, lightly spoken, she took 
seriously, and threatened me with a breach of 
promise suit.” 


140 


TILUE 


“Ted!” and Louie looked as if about to cry, 
and turned her blushing, pouting face away 
from Ted’s smiling, conciliating eyes. 

“Louie, didn’t you know I was teasing?” 

“Oh, Ted, if you and Louie are going to get 
sentimental, go out in the fresh air. I can 
endure your chaff and nonsense, but your 
love-making i9 stifling. And do try to do all 
your quarreling before marriage. I don’t see 
how you two are ever going to agree!” And 
Tillie laughed at the changed manner of Ted 
and Louie — she gentle and docile, he tender 
and deferential. 

Allen Creston was home from his travels. 
A note came to Tillie from him, asking to see 
her, but neither message nor answer went 
back. 

The excitement of dissipation removed, 
Tillie’s high spirits suddenly collapsed, and 
like the blowing out of a candle, the light and 
sparkle left her eye, and her cheeks paled, 
and she seemed but a frail shadow of the 
blooming girl flushed . with health. She 
moved listlessly and wearily about. Frailer 
and frailer she grew, alarming and saddening 
her family. 

“Tillie, you are pale; are you sick?” asked 
Mrs. Daveril, troubled and alarmed at the 


T I L L I E 


141 

sudden change in the girl. Tillie had never 
been sick in her life. 

“No, mamma, only tired. I dissipated too 
much all winter; I danced too much, and now 
I’m paying the piper. ” She tried to be merry 
and gay, and the effort was but an added 
strain upon her weakened nerves. 

When Leslie came, he looked long and earn- 
estly into her pale face, with the shadows un- 
der the sweet, tender eyes. 

“Tillie, what have they been doing to you? 
Where are your roses gone to?” 

“I am lazy, Leslie; I will be myself again, 
soon.” But she grew paler and frailer. 

Doctor Thurston was consulted. 

“Over-wrought nerves, Tillie; you have 
put an iron restraint upon them, my girl, and 
now they threaten to snap,” and he looked 
very tenderly into the girl’s pale face. “You 
must be very quiet, very natural, very cheer- 
ful, and lazy, Tillie, and you will come around 
all right, soon.” But Doctor Thurston was 
less hopeful than his words implied, for “who 
can minister to a mind diseased;” and he 
knew no physician’s skill could heal the 
wounds in a woman’s heart. 

Again Leslie came from the City and found 
Tillie paler, thinner, frailer, more listless than 
on his former visit. 


142 


T I L L I E 


“Tillie, dear little love, what is the matter? 
Why are you like this?” and a shadow of pain 
fell upon his face. 

“I don’t know, Leslie. I am not sick; I 
have no pain, but I am tired — tired all the 
time; it is an effort to move; I only want to 
sit still, or lie idly in a hammock, out under 
the green trees.” Then, in soft, low tones, 
“Leslie, I promised to marry you in June, but 
you will not want so pale and weary a bride. 
You will wait until the autumn days come 
again, 

‘When the maple turns to crimson, 

And the sassafras is gold; 

When the gentian’s in the meadow, 

And the aster on the wold.’ ” 

He took the little wasted white hand in his, 
and said, in a voice as soft and tender as a 
mother’s, as he looked with love filled eyes 
into her face: 

“Yes, Tillie, I want you; I want to take you 
to Europe, and the sea breeze and travel will 
bring back health and strength.” 

“No — no, Leslie! dear friend!” he winced 
at the word. “Please wait — until autumn.” 

With a sigh, and in a low, tense voice, “It 
shall be as you wish, Tillie.” 


T I L L I E 


143 


Leslie was much alarmed about Tillie, and 
went to Mrs. Daveril, saying: 

“You must take her away; take her to the 
sea shore. ” 

Leslie, Mrs. Daveril, Elsie and Tillie went 
to the coast. But Tillie soon tired of the wild 
roar of the ocean. Her overwrought nerves 
quailed at the sad, surging sound, and she 
longed for the placid quiet of her country 
home. 

“The murmur of the sea saddens me, Les- 
lie,” she said. “Like little Paul Dombey, I 
sit and listen and wonder ‘what are the wild 
waves saying?’ and it is like seeking to 
know the mysteries of the human heart — no 
answer comes — only, ever that sad, restless 
murmur.” 

Then to the mountains they went, seeking 
health and strength for the fading girl. 

But Tillie complained wearily, that the 
mountains awed and oppressed her. 

“I am such a tiny human atom, and they 
are so awful and grand, they seem about to 
fall on me, and crush me. I seem to stand on 
the very brink of eternity.” 

Leslie was very patient with her nervous 
fancies ; unfailingly tender and gentle, humor- 


144 


T I L L I E 


ing every whim. When she expressed a wish 
to go home, they returned at once. 

Day by day, Tillie became thinner, frailer, 
quieter, more listless. 

She and Leslie were alone in the library. 
He looked long and intently into the girl’s sad 
eyes ; he noted the pallor of the face, with the 
blue tracings of the veins outlined under the 
delicate skin. He took one fragile little hand 
in his, and held it in silence. 

His face was set, hard and cold a3 granite, 
but his eye glowed and burned like a flame. 

“Tillie!” his voice was husky, tense and 
low. ‘‘Tillie ! you loved Allen Creston once.” 

A little gasp — a pressure of the hand upon 
the heart, and Tillie’s eyes fell before his 
burning, steady gaze. 

“Tillie!” low, sad and slow, with searching 
look into the girl’s face, “have you ever 
ceased to love him?” 

“No, Leslie,” faintly whispered. 

A sigh, a groan from Leslie, then silence. 

“Tillie, you are breaking your heart for 
him,” at last Leslie spoke. “Dear love, you 
are dearer than my life — your happiness more 
to me than my own. Dearest, no chains of 
mine shall cut into your sweet heart. My lit- 
tle wounded bird, your fluttering wings shall 


T I L L I E 


145 


not beat against the bars of a gilded cage. 
You are free, Tillie, but I am bound by links 
that eternity cannot sever. Through life — 
through eternity — I will love you ever.” His 
face was ghastly as death, and Tillie was like 
a broken lily. 

“Leslie — Leslie!” sobbing. “Forgive me! 
If I have deceived you, or wounded you, for- 
give me. You are so true, so noble — my 
wounded heart, my stung pride turned to you 
for comfort, I thought in time I would learn 
to love you as you deserve to be loved. For- 
give me, Leslie!” 

“Dear love, I have naught to forgive. For 
months you have been mine — I have been 
near you — that remembrance will solace me 
through the long years of a lonely life. Now 
I have but one wish — to see you well, and 
happy.” 


In the hall at Creston Lodge, Leslie Brent- 
ford and Allen Creston stood facing each 
other. 

“Mr. Creston, you are wondering why I 
have intruded upon you. You knew of my 
engagement to Miss Daveril? That engage- 


146 


T I L L I E 


ment is now at an end. You can make such 
use of the knowledge as you see fit. ’ y 

Allen’s eyes glowed, the color rushed into 
his face, he threw his head proudly erect. 

“Mr. Brentford, do you mean to imply there 
i3 yet hope — for me?” 

“Ask that question of Miss Daveril. A pos- 
itive answer from her would be better than a 
surmise from me.” 


“Allen! Allen!” Tillie was sobbing on his 
breast. “My love is greater than my pride — 
greater than my life.” 

Allen looked into the pale, beautiful face, 
as if he could never tear his eyes away. Love, 
sorrow, joy, overpowered him. Tillie his 
again ! Tillie, whom he thought he had lost 
forever ! 

“Tillie, no cloud shall ever come between us 
again. Soon you will be my little merry Tillie 
once more, with the roses in your cheek, and 
we will be happy — you and I, Tillie.” 

“Yes, Allen, we will be happy, if that dark 
shadow never comes between us again ; but if 
she does — it must be good-bye forever — though 
it kill me. We would part forever — no word 
could bring me back again.” 


TILUE 


147 


Happiness was a magic elixir to Tillie. The 
pink of the wild rose bloomed again in her 
cheek, the smiles played about her red lips, a 
soft light beamed from her blue grey eye. 

One day she felt well and strong — almost 
like the Tillie of old. She walked alone down 
the shady road that ran by Creston Lodge. 
On and on she went. What if Allen should 
be at the gate! How surprised and pleased 
he would be! Buoyed up by this thought, she 
walked on, slowly, for her strength was ebb- 
ing. Almost at the gate. Bach step was an 
effort, but she would sit there and rest, on the 
big stone step at the gate. Ah, she was there 
now! Looking up, she saw Mrs. Barbee seat- 
ed on the stone step, and standing before 
her — Allen ! 

Like a dumb-stricken animal, Tillie gazed 
into his horror-widened eyes. One sad, 
pleading, reproachful look, such as a fawn 
might turn upon one who stabbed it to the 
heart, and Tillie went mournfully homeward. 

“Tillie! Tillie !” theory was like the wail 
of a lost and tortured soul; “Tillie!'’ pain- 
racked and anguished. 

But Tillie looked not back, only waved her 
hand, as might one who stood aboard a shore- 


148 


TILLIE 


receding ship, sailing on a boundless and un- 
known sea. 

Tillie walked erect and proudly, until a curve 
of the road carried her beyond view; then her 
pride relaxed, and a weakness, as of death, 
overcame her. Her feet seemed balls of lead 
that her frail body refused to drag along. 
Her heart beat and fluttered; a dreamy faint- 
ness came over her, and she sank upon the 
green earth, unconscious. Thus Ted found 
her a moment later when he rode up. Quick- 
ly dismounting, and throwing the bridle on 
the horse’s neck, he lifted Tillie in his arms. 


T I L L I E 


149 


XVI 


“Elsie, Allen and Mrs. Barbee are to be 
married!” Theodore’s face was drawn and 
haggard; the merry, boyish look was quite 
gone. Elsie looked up in quick surprise; her 
eyes dilated and her face paled. 

“Oh, Ted, it can’t be true?” 

“Yes, it is true.” 

Elsie pressed her hand over her eyes, as if 
to shut out some horrible vision. 

“Oh, Ted, it will break Tillie’s heart!” and 
Elsie sank, sobbing, into a chair. 

“Her heart is already broken, Elsie.” 

“Then this will kill her.” 

“That Tillie should break her heart over 
this villian!” muttered Theodore, through his 
white lips. “The sting of it to me is that I 
cannot touch him, because it would hurt 
Tillie. That I must see her fade — fade — see 
her bright life go out under this cloud of sor- 
row, and yet keep my hands from his vile 
throat!” and Theodore clenched his fists, and 
bit his teeth deep into his white lip, until a 


150 


T I L L I E 


scarlet stain sprang upon it, while he walked 
with restless step back and forth. 

“I could tear his black heart from his 
breast! But for Tillie — for Tillie’s sake I 
must sit like a spiritless dolt. It is hard, Elsie 
— hard to see her fading day by day, and he 
in the insolence of manhood.” 

“Poor Tillie! Poor Allen! Think how we 
once loved him, Ted; how we were children 
together. He was kind, and gentle, and good; 
his heart was tender and noble. We were so 
happy — he loved us — he was true until he fell 
under the curse of that awful, awful woman’s 
influence.” 

“He was warned, Elsie; he went headlong 
to his doom with eyes wide open.” 

“Ted, we must not let Tillie know. No one 
must tell her — the shock might be fatal . Doctor 
Thurston says her heart is affected — she grows 
weaker each day.” 

Elsie and Ted put their arms about each 
other, and both burst into tears. 

One day Tillie lay upon a lounge in the 
wide, cool hall. Ted was by her side — he sel- 
dom left her, now — holding one little thin, 
white hand in his. Tillie was very pale and 
fragile, but a smile was upon the brave, 
curved lip. 


T I L L I E 


151 


“Teddy, dear Teddy !” caressing his curl- 
ing blonde locks. “Elsie !” as she heard 
Elsie’3 footfall. “Come here, dear.” Elsie 
came and knelt by her side. 

“What, dearest?” 

“Elsie, I want to go once more to the old 
school house grounds, and sit again under the 
old oak, just as we used to long, long years 
ago. when we were children — such happy 
children ! I want to go today — you and Ted. 
and I and Allen !” 

Tomorrow was Allen’s wedding day ! 

Ted and Elsie looked in quick alarm into 
each others’ blanched faces, and tears sprang 
to their eyes. 

“Dearest,” said Elsie, tenderly — so tender- 
ly, “do you think you are strong enough?” 

“Yes; Ted will take me, won’t you, Teddy 
boy?” patting the strong hand that held hers. 
The tears almost blinded him, and his voice 
was choked and husky, as he answered : 

“Yes, Tillie; yes, darling. But you don’t 
want Allen, do you, Tillie?” 

“Yes, Ted. Let us have Allen — for the last 
time. Tomorrow is his wedding day.” Ted 
and Elsie looked up quickly. “Let us go and 
say good-bye to him.” 


152 


T I L L I E 


Brave heart! She had known, and yet had 
given no sign; had been merry and gay in a 
way it broke their hearts to see, that their 
sorrow might be no keener. 

“When do you want to go, Tillie?” asked 
Elsie, softly. 

“This afternoon, late — when the sun is get- 
ting low in the west, and the beams fall 
through the trees, making shadows on the 
grass, just as they used to when we raced 
down the hill from school.” 

“You shall go, Tillie,” and Ted’s voice was 
tender as a mother’s when she soothes a 
weary child to sleep. 

“You and Leslie — dear, dear Leslie — will 
take me. I am too tired and lazy to walk, 
and it is too near to ride — just down the road a 
bit — across the brook, and up the hill ! Send 
Leslie and Louie to me, Elsie. I hear their 
voices in the yard.” 

Elsie and Ted left her with Leslie and Louie. 

“Ted — oh, Ted — what shall we do? Will 
Allen go, do you think?” 

“He must — he shall!” 

“I will go over to Creston Lodge and see 
him, Ted. And — Ted — if he goes, we must ba 
very kind and gentle, and say no word that 
will wound Tillie. Let this last hour in the 


T I L L I E 


153 


old play grounds be — if not happy — at least 
free from fresh wounds.” 

In response to Elsie’s quick, nervous ring 
at Creston Lodge, Allen came to the door. 

At sight of Elsie, pale and breathless, Pis 
dark eyes grew wild and staring, and his face 
tense, drawn and pallid. 

“Elsie — Tillie?” A tremor shook his strong 
frame like an aspen leaf. 

“Allen!” Elsie could say no more, but 
burst into tears. He lead her gently to a 
chair, and stood looking down upon her with 
sad, questioning gaze. 

He tried to speak, but no word came through 
his nerveless, pallid lips. She was come to 
tell him Tillie was dead — he had heard she 
was not well, not strong. 

“Allen, Tillie is ill — so ill — she may leave 
us any moment — and, Allen, she has asked to 
go once more to the old school house grounds 
— with Ted, and me, and you, Allen.” 

“Me?’’ A groan, and he buried his face in 
his hands. “Oh! God! Sweet, forgiving 
Tillie! Not me, Elsie, not me!” 

“Yes, she wants to say good-bye. She 
knows tomorrow is your wedding day.” 

An ashy pallor swept over Allen’s face. 

“Will Theodore go — if I go?” 


154 


TILLIE 


“Ted would die for Tillie, Allen!” 

“Oh, Elsie, so would I — to give her health, 
happiness — to bring back the merry, laughing 
Tillie of the old happy days — I would die ! 
Die ! What is my accursed life that I should 
prize it? What has it been but a shadow over 
the sweetest, truest soul that ever brightened 
aweary world! Die! It is the one prayer 
my impious lips may yet utter — to die!” 

“Oh, Alien,” sobbed Elsie, “you had but 
to live, true to yourself, and her, to give her 
happiness. You failed — but that is past re- 
call. If she forgives, we — her family — must 
try to forget.” 

“Elsie — not beyond recall — not beyond re- 
call!” and the words rang wild and wailing 
from an anguished heart. “Never again a 
hope — I have clung to hope — it alone has kept 
me from suicide. Every step upon the gravel 
I have thought — ‘it is a message from Tillie’ — 
her tender heart relents — she is sorry — she 
will see me— she still loves me — she will for- 
give all — my little Tillie, my sweet, sweet 
Tillie ! These thoughts, these hopes, have 
surged through my brain, day by day — hour 
by hour — ” 

“Oh, Allen! my poor boy! you deceive 
yourself. Tillie’ s feet are too near the other 


T I L L I E 


155 


shore for her to have thought or care for 
earthly hopes. And, Allen, hay© you known 
her all these years to so little purpose that 
you can think that, though she might forgive, 
and still love you, any power could persuade 
her to accept a dishonored faith? Were you 
willing to break your troth with the woman 
who has betrayed your soul, neither angels 
nor man could persuade Tillie to cast one 
stain upon the spotless purity of her own hon- 
or — to win happiness in such a way. Allen, 
you cast away a pearl. Allen, you will come?” 

“Yes, Elsie.” 

“Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye.” 

Elsie turned for one last look. 

Despair and grief were written upon Allen’s 
set, palled face. The portraits of his ances- 
tors looked down from the oaken walls, upon 
this last scion of a goodly race. He looked up 
into his father’s pictured face, and seemed to 
see a look of brooding sadness in the dark 
eyes. He had loved little Tillie. 

One last look at the lonely man, and Elsie, 
with tears streaming down her cheeks, turned 
and went out the door — she felt as if she 
left the house of the dead. 


156 


T I L L I E 


That afternoon, Tillie, looking like a dainty- 
cameo, in her white dress, walked out on the 
gallery, pale and fragile, unlike the blooming 
Tillie of a year ago, but sweet and beautiful in 
a pure, ethereal way. 

All rose at her coming, and met her with 
smiles and bows. Leslie came forward and 
placed a chair for her, saying : 

“Now, little Princess, sit here, in this arm- 
chair. Now, Ted, steady!” and the two men 
gently lifted the chair with its light burden, 
walking slowly, carefully, down the steps, 
down the walk, and out into the road, Elsie 
and Louie and Doctor Thurston following, 
then Mr. Daveril and Mrs. Daveril, with slow 
steps and sad faces. 

“Quite a triumphal march,” said Tillie, 
looking back, waving her wan hand, and 
laughing gayly. 

“We’ve always been your loving followers, 
Tillie,” said Louie, with an effort to be merry. 

The chair was gently lowered, under the old 
oak tree, where she had played so often as a 
child. 

Doctor Thurston held a glass of wine to her 
lips. 

“Now, Arthur, is this served in a social or 
professional capacity? If the latter, I decline 


T I L L I E 


157 ; 


the dose; if the former, 1 drink your good 
health, my lords and ladies! I drink, and 
wish for you all — happiness! 

“Dear old tree!” looking upward, “ ’neath 
your leafy branches may I sleep when ‘life’s 
fitful fever is o’er.’ ” 

For a moment a sad silence fell upon the 
little group, until broken by a gay jest and 
merry laugh from Tillie. 

Then all went away and left the brother and 
sisters alone. All but Leslie. He lingered,, 
holding Tillie’s hand in his, and looking ten- 
derly into her face. 

“Tillie — some day — somewhere — dear heart, 
you may say, what my soul has hungered and 
thirsted to hear — Leslie, I love you.” 

“Leslie — kind, true friend — I said that to 
but one man, and I said it for all eternity.” 

With a sigh and a yearning look, Leslie 
walked away to the foot of the hill. 

Tillie began to talk brightly of the old days. 

“It was here, Ted, we made Mr. Davis throw 
off that load of sand,” and she laughed merrily. 

“We — oh, listen at that, Elsie!” said Ted. 
“ ‘We,’ when I was mum as a mouse, and ex- 
pected to be hung, drawn and quartered!” 

“But Tillie was not afraid,” said Elsie, ten- 
derly. 


158 


T I L L I E 


“No, never afraid! and not now afraid!” 
musingly. 

A hush fell upon them, as Allen came up 
and stood before them. 

“Allen!” with a tremor of joy and sadness 
in her voice, and a long serching look into his 
face, the tears sprang to Tillie’s eyes How 
changed he was — how old — how worn and 
haggard — as if the storms of years had swept 
over him, leaving him a stranded wreck upon 
life’s desolate shore. He stood looking down 
into her pale, wan, but beautiful face. 

“Tillie!” the word was a cry, a moan. 

Then she smiled up into his face, bravely, 
through her tears. 

“Sit down, Allen, and let us talk of the old 
days, and say good-bye to the past, and wel- 
come in the new life — your new life that be- 
gins tomorrow with your bridal. May you be 
very, very happy, Allen. And, Allen, may 
your life be all that your father could have 
wished it to be. You and Ted, Allen, for my 
sake— for the sake of the sweet past — must be 
friends. Teddy, 3hake hands with Allen.” 

Allen looked searchingly into Theodore’s 
clouded face. As if it were the wresting of 
soul from body, Theodore extended^'liand and 
clasped Allen’s. Tillie, looking anxiously into 


T I L L I E 


159 


the two gloomy faces, sighed. Again Allen 
turned his eyes upon her sweet face. 

Then, throwing away, in the wild delirium 
of a despairing hope, every restraint, every 
vow, every tie that shackled him to a loath- 
some present, he threw himself upon his knees 
before the girl he loved, and grasped her 
hands in his. 

“Tillie! Tillie! Tillie! Come back to me, 
from the verge of the grave! Come back and 
bless my darkened life — Beloved! beloved! 
my ruined life and my starved heart — cry out 
for you, and will not be stifled! Tillie! Sweet 
Tillie !” 

Theodore, at Allen’s first wild words, sprang 
to his feet, his eyes alert; then, as the torrent 
of words swept on, with the fury of a caged 
lion he sprang upon Allen and grasped him 
by the arm. 

“You coward! You insult my sister!” 

“Allen!” Tillie’s voice, clear and sweet, 
rang out; then her head fell back against the 
chair. 

“Ted! Allen! Look!” screamed Elsie. 
“Tillie! Oh, God! she is dead!” 

Dead — with a smile upon her sweet face, 
and Allen’s name upon her lips. 


160 


T I L L I E 


For an instant the three stood in dumb, 
stricken horror, looking at the beautiful, life- 
less form. 

Then Theodore, with the wild, fierce rage of 
a tiger, fell upon Allen Creston and clutched 
him by the throat. 

“Now, Allen Creston, you and I will have 
our reckoning!” 

“Oh, Theodore! Theodore! are you mad, 
my poor, poor boy?” and Elsie’s feeble hands 
clutched at his iron arms. “Theodore, for 
Tillie’s sake — not in the presence of the 
dead!” Theodore’s hands dropped by his 
side, and he swooned upon the grass. 

Leslie had come running up at the first wild 
scream from Elsie, quickly followed by the 
others. 

Pushing them all roughly aside, Leslie 
gathered Tillie’s cold, lifeless form in his 
arms, and bore her home. 

“Mine! Mine! All mine!” he crooned, in 
the delirium of despairing agony, looking 
down into the beautiful face. But he pressed 
no kiss upon the smiling lips. He would not 
take in death what she in life had denied. 

Allen, like a bowed and aged man, groped 
his lonely way to his desolate home. 


TILLIE 


iai 

The summer moon floated high in the mid- 
night sky. All nature was wrapped in soft, 
weird beauty. 


Within the house Tillie, smiling and beauti- 
ful, rested in her last sweet sleep. By her 
side, his sad eyes upon her face, Leslie Brent- 
ford sat through the long hours of the night. 


Without, on the old school house play 
grounds, Theodore Daveril, in the wild agony 
of grief, walked alone in frenzied restlessness, 
struggling to quell the demon of murder that 
was battling within him. 


Down the moonlit road came the quick 
tramp of a horse’s feet, and black Lee, wet 
and white with foam, flecked with crimson, 
where the cruel spurs had gashed into his 
side, dashed like a mad, wild thing, with his 
rider urging him on to greater speed. Like a 
spectre in the pale moonlight, Allen Creston 
sat upon his frenzied horse as if carved of 
stone, his pallid face rigid, and the light of 
madness in his burning, anguished eyes. 


182 


T I L L I E 


Theodore sprang out just as Lee’s feet 
splashed into the water. The horse plunged 
and reared, and threw its rider over against 
the red- brown rock that jutted into the stream. 
Allen’s head fell against a sharp point of the 
rock; the red blood gushed from his temple, 
and trickled down and mingled with the crys- 
tal water of the brook. White and still, in the 
moonlight he lay. The frenzied, riderless 
horse dashed down the road, clanking the 
stirrups against its sides. 


One moment Theodore stood looking down 
upon his prostrate foe. God’s hand had 
avenged Tillie! But he — he was a murderer 
in God’s sight! One wild, fierce spasm of the 
joy of revenge flashed over him. Then — then 
the pity — the sadness of it all swept like a 
blighting wave over his grief- laden heart, 
and stooping down by the white, still form, he 
took the cold, dead hand in his. 

“For Tillie’s sake! For Tillie’s sake!” 


Tillie! Sweet Tillie! When the moonlight 
glints upon the marble shaft above thy grave, 
under the old oak tree; and the green blades 


TILLIE 


163 




of the corn whir and rustle in the cool evening 
breeze; and the gurgling of the brook, rippling 
o’er the white pebbles, blends with the echo- 
ing song of the whip-poor-will, the past rises 
like a spectre. Again, sweet Tillie, thy merry 
laugh seems to ring out, and thy form, in 
brightness and beauty, seems again to tread 
the uplands and glades. Then the past — the 
happy past — comes like a dream, and the 
heart grows full to bursting. 

Tillie ! Sweet Tillie ! 


“Through the smoke of burning summer, 
When the weary wings are still, 

I can see her in the valley, 

I can hear her on the hill, 

In the splendor of the woodlands, 

In the whisper of the rill. 

“For the shores of earth and Heaven 
Meet and mingle in the blue; 

She can wander down the glory, 

To the places that she knew, 

Where the happy lovers wandered, 

In the days when life was true.” 


JUN 5 1903 f 











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